


The Bat & The Wolf

by Cirilla Godefroy (Cumbersnatched)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Bat Cuddling, Bats, Darkness, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Multi, Nesting, Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Burn with Witcher Wiring Issues, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suspense, Witchers are HornDogs, bat marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersnatched/pseuds/Cirilla%20Godefroy
Summary: Post Blood & Wine: Lambert leaves Keira to her politics and heads back to Kaer Morhen smack in the middle of winter. Fate royally screws him on the way and he ends up with hypothermia, unable to Igni and struggling to keep warm. He lands himself in a cave and becomes increasingly frustrated as he struggles to light a fire. Fortunately for him, his struggles woke the lone occupant of the cave who'd chosen to recuse himself there indefinitely. Seeing the lone Witcher, the occupant decides to help him thinking that maybe, they could help each other over come their various issues.





	1. Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to TrueTattoo for helping me piece together one of my favorite pairings. This wouldn't have been possible without you <3
> 
> Warnings: Lambert has a potty mouth. He feels entitled and I agree with him. Sorry!

“Light you damp piece of shit!” Lambert cursed and his hand’s shook as he attempted to grasp the flint well enough to light the bit of semi-dry moss he found near the mouth of the cave. Half his attempts were fucking failures, because he couldn’t grip the flint well enough. The other half failed because everything around him was damp and unusable. He was frozen. The ground around him was frozen, and damned if he went back out into that blizzard to freeze more looking for anything usable!

He shuddered and blew warm breath into his hands which misted out before him in a cloud of white. Think! Think think think! God damn it why didn’t he test the ice first?! Sure, he was in a hurry because you know, blizzard! He thought it was thick enough, this time of year the Liksela River should have been! But no that fat mare he’d packed too full of _useful life saving shit_ fell through the ice! He’d lost everything…His gear, his potions and bombs. His food and bedroll—everything was gone! Course the fucking horse survived. Bitch bolted off soon as they got back to shore…

Damn he _really_ had to get his stiff and frozen clothing off before his core temperature fell too low. His hands and feet—well he lost feeling in them over an hour ago. They were dead weight, and if he couldn’t manage this damn flint and find some dry enough tinder, he was well and truly fucked!

Course he’s had absolutely no effing luck since he left Keira in Oxenfurt. After their several month stint post Kaer Morhen she decided she wanted to get back with the lodge of sorceresses. Something about her being needed in Toussaint. Politics blah blah vineyard blah he wanted nothing to do with it. So he headed back to the only place he could rightfully call home….Kaer Morhen.

Smack in the middle of winter and wilds of Kaedwen, while the bitch was down south probably sipping wine.

He shuddered and glowered at the flint on the ground before him. He’d dropped it again and hadn’t even noticed.

“Fuck!” He cursed loudly and he clumsily picked it back up. His voice echoed through the cave behind him and he winced. Guess he better get his ass up before it was too late. No witcher ever died in their bed, but he didn’t want to die in a damn cave freezing to death either! If he was lucky he might be able to find dry tinder further in. Would be slow going without a cat’s eye potion, but what other choice did he have?

Reluctantly he stood and winced. His stiff clothing crunched and ice slid off him in flakes and wisps of powder, and his feet were really starting to hurt now that the frostbite was setting in. He had to move…do something! At least movement might help keep his core warm…

He licked his cracked lips and looked along the wall behind him. He was looking for anything—roots, cobwebs, bits of grass or weeds. Anything really that felt _dry._ But it was getting harder to see. It was late afternoon and what little light there was getting through that blizzard was beginning to fade. He needed to work fast, carefully, but fast!

Lambert’s eyes narrowed and he peered deeper into the cave. He needed to filter out the remaining light behind him and force his eyes to adjust. The point was to make his cat eye pupils dilate to the point where they took in as much light as possible. Then he could key up his mutations which made his vision even sharper, though he had more trouble seeing color. Color didn’t fucking matter right now though. He needed to see properly!

It didn’t work nearly as well as a cat eye potion, but it helped. He was at least able to avoid stumbling over rocks and screwing his feet up worse than they already were. After wandering about thirty feet or so inside he found what he needed.

“Yessssss thank the God’s!!” He cried out, honestly feeling happier than he’d been in ages.

It was an old crate, rotted and falling apart. Even if he couldn’t grip his damn swords right now he could easily stomp it apart into kindling! He gathered up most of the pieces and found a nice spot in the middle of the cavern to stack them, then went back for the rest. He grinned when he realized there was a bit of hay and cobwebs that were hidden behind the crate, and grabbed those too. Once everything was gathered, he busted up a few pieces of rotted wood with the heel of his boot and made a nice little tinder bushel using It, the hay and the cobwebs.

Now was the moment of truth! He blew into his hands to warm them up, or try to anyway, so that he could hold the flint again. No luck unfortunately but he had to try! His fingers were probably toast…

He tried not to think about that as he fumbled with the flint and struck.

No spark.

Struck again.

No spark.

“C’mon you piece of—yes!”

A spark caught the web and started smoking. He cupped the bushel in his clumsy hands and blew oh so gently. He had to be patient or he was one dead witcher!

He blew again. Feather light air flow coaxed the sparked web into a glowing ember. The ember caught the hay.

“Yesss…”

He blew again, this time a bit harder. The hay caught the remainder of the bushel.

Lambert bit his cracked lip hard as he placed it beneath the rotted wood pile and prayed it would catch.

“Please, please please….” He bent down and blew a bit harder at the bushel.

“Please….” He closed his eyes and waited. He blew again…waited.

He felt a slight warmth lapping at his cheeks

“God’s thank you thank you…” He almost wept as he opened his eyes to see the pile of rotted wood catching. He blew hard this time and it was almost euphoric, the heat he felt on his face.

“Okay. I—I need to get this off.” Talking to himself kept him sane okay? Don’t judge.

This was going to suck! But he had to. He started stripping his gear off. First his swords which came easy, lain just within arm’s reach. Then what gear he had on him. He struggled with his frozen fingers getting his armor off, but he managed. Then he stripped out of his frozen clothes which would soon be damp due to the warmth in the cave. They had to be dried out. Finally he was down to his braies. He tossed those too and sat his ass on the frozen ground and scooted as close to the fire as he dared. He didn’t care! Warmth bathed him and breathed life back into his frozen bones.

Unfortunately that meant the numb blocks of ice that were his hands and feet began to sting and burn horribly with frostbite.

“Fuck…” He looked at them in the firelight. His hands were red and glossy, so were most of his feet. Most of his appendages were starting to swell in spots. Though a couple of his toes looked pretty bad, the smallest was most concerning. It was already turning purple!

“God fucking damn it…” He cursed his luck for the millionth time. He’d heal from the milder frostbite in several days’ time. It would be incredibly painful. There would be blisters, lots, by the glossy look of his skin. But those toes did not look good. Not at all.

He was not looking forward to what that meant, but he put it out of his mind for now. One thing at a time, witcher. Just focus on the warmth.

And he did, mostly. For now he got comfortable. He sat in front of the fire, his arms on his legs and head hanging as he enjoyed the warmth that seeped back into his body. It felt good. Good to be alive. He’d have to get back up again soon, hunt down more wood. But he just wanted to rest his eyes for a bit, warm up a bit more…

He should have known better though as he was close to drifting off. Damn it all if the fire went out or burned him, he didn’t care. He swayed slightly on the spot, he was so tired and the cave here reminded him of home, Kaer Morhen. The scent was similar and that’s the only place he wanted to go, even if it was in his dreams…

“Wake up.”

“Yaah!” Lambert startled at the deep voice and snapped his head up.

“Do not be alarmed.” The voice was low, rolling. It had an accent to it he couldn’t quite place…

“I didn’t know this cave was occupied.” He looked over at his steel and silver, flexed his hands and cursed. They were still too numb, and burned horribly. He fumbled at his amulet and hissed as his too cold hands hit his chest. His amulet was still. His eyes darted frantically back and forth, searching the shadows.

The voice coughed softly and cleared its throat. Human then?...”I was not expecting company,” the rolling voice said.

“Me neither.” Lambert said slowly. He still couldn’t see who was in there with him, and realized he was fire blind. Cursing inwardly he scrambled back from the fire and shielded his eyes.

“Why are you here?” The voice came from the shadows, but closer and a form began to take shape. Lambert froze and fumed at himself for having moved away from his swords.

“I dunno, guess I decided it would be fun to take a fucking swim during a blizzard---why’d ya think I’m in h-here?!” Lambert shivered and scowled up at his unwelcome guest as the light started to illuminate him.

A man with dark curly hair and ice blue eyes. He was covered in fur and Lambert eyed the warm skin with envy. The man looked at him and tilted his head. “You’re a Witcher.”

“Congratulations. Your eyes fucking work.” He hissed. “Wanna make any more obvious statements? Might as well get’m out’a the way n-now!”

“You’re hypothermic and you have frostbite.” The form moved closer and Lambert scooted away.

“Wait—That wasn’t an invitation!“ He gasped as fur, warmed by the body it had been wrapped around, covered his shoulders. His eyes closed on their own in relief, and he took in the scent. Bear skin, not properly tanned but still warm. Lambert shuddered beneath it, grateful for his luck, and whoever this stranger was.

Lambert opened his eyes again at the sound of fabric falling to the ground. “Wh—what the fuck are you doing?!” he hissed, pulling the fur around him and soaking in the warmth that permeated it. 

“Humans are fragile creatures,” the man with ice blue eyes said with a tilt of his head. “I will warm you.”

Lambert narrowed his eyes at being referred to as human. It was something only a _non-human_ would say. He opened his mouth to protest but then Vesemir’s voice filtered through to him. _“A second body is the fastest way to recover from a fall through ice or hypothermia. Skin to skin, and a blanket should do the trick.”_

He watched suspiciously as the strange man stripped down, and even took off his braies. “You should move back to the fire.”

Lambert reluctantly agreed and moved closer, though not nearly as close as he had been. If only to get closer to his swords again. He tensed as the man shifted the fur aside and sat down next to him with a huff. When the man wrapped his arm around Lambert’s shoulders, he winced at the scalding warmth of his body, but after a moment his eyes widened.

The smell of the mountains earlier, it was coming from him!

Lambert shook as the warmth seeped into him, struck odd by the realization. “W--why…why are you being so nice?” He asked, truly perplexed and curious. His voice wavered and his body trembled as it tried to get warm.

The stranger beside him stiffened, and Lambert took a chance and stole a glance.

The man was handsome and had a classic look about him. His ice blue eyes caught the firelight but they were far away, and his face was drawn with a frown. Lambert recognized that look. He wore it often himself. Pain, hurt, bitterness and regret.

Hm. Lambert leaned into the warmth, grateful to have it, despite his paranoia and concerns. “Nevermind, none of my business.”

“It is a question worthy of an answer,” the man said looking to Lambert who had yet to look away. Lambert trembled again, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the hypothermia, or because the voice was deeper than it seemed now that they were up close.

He narrowed his eyes as he noticed how the man’s strange blue eyes caught the firelight, but didn’t reflect it. He wasn’t human. He knew it!

Yet, he was so damn tired from the events and his efforts of today, he had no strength to draw on to care. He could only manage a sigh as he looked back to the fire. “Don’t expect an answer, and that doesn’t mean you’d have given it anyway.”

The stranger began to chuckle and Lambert’s eyes darted back. The man’s smile was warm, warmer than the fire. Then when he began to laugh, Lambert felt his heart catch. He had fangs!

“You’re a vampire!” Lambert blurted out, though he hadn’t exactly meant to as it might have put the vampire on the defense.

The man laughed even harder. “Any more obvious statements, witcher?”

Okay so he wouldn’t die in his bed, he was going to be dinner instead. But hey, at least he would die warm…?

“Touché. So are ya gonna eat me? Needed to warm me up proper to enjoy your meal?” Lambert prodded tentatively, even though he couldn’t do shit about it if he didn’t like the answer.

The vampire laughed in earnest, long and loud. The merry sound echoed deep within the cave. “Perhaps.” The vampire looked down at him, his ice blue eyes twinkling, though his mirth quickly faded. “Or perhaps…perhaps I am just lonely.”

Silence filled the cavern then, which only deepened in contrast to the whistling and desolate wind outside. His throat began to ache as he related to the vampire. He could remember being lonely his whole damn life. Even before becoming a witcher. Feeling his heart clench at the memory he slammed his eyes shut as they began to sting. Loneliness followed him everywhere! Even here, at least, as fate would have it, up until this very moment

He opened his eyes again, and the expression of pain on the vampires face, his eyes tightly closed—Lambert could mirror it. It made his heart clench and his very soul began to ache for him. He _hurt_ for the _vampire_. Lambert left Oxenfurt, alone, trudged through the wilds of Kaedwen, also alone. And, yet again as fate would have it, struck him down through the ice. His miserable excuse for a horse abandoned him to—you guessed it—be alone, and sent him through frozen holy hell to this cave. Where he was stuck feeling every ounce of pain from the creature beside him!

Fuck, why did he have to have such a softy heart?! He tried so hard to bury it, to hide it and forget about it. He had so much empathy and he hated it. It made him harder than he was. He was prickly, angry and pushed everyone away because the one time he let someone in they were ripped away from him. But every so often his dumb heart opened again, and made a stupid, abrupt appearance reminding him he was a human. That he had compassion and that he was just so tired of being _alone_ too_._

He shuddered and tore his burning eyes away from the vampire.

“I’m Lambert.” He didn’t know what made him say his name—though in actuality he did, he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

The vampire stirred and looked at him. “I am Dettlaff. Dettlaff van Der Eretin.”

Lambert snorted and turned his gaze back to the vampire. “That’s quite the mouthful.” He yawned and snuggled into the vampire with the really long name, enjoying his warmth. He saw him grin out of the corner of his eyes. “You aren’t going to eat me are ya Detty?”

The vampire spun on him, eyes searching and looking kind of…hurt? “No!...No…I would…I would never…”

Lambert yawned again and finally let himself relax. “Good, then I am going to sleep.” He snuggled into the vampires grip further and felt the creatures hold on him tighten minutely. He let out a small sigh at the warmth and pulled the bear skinned cloak up slightly over his face. He willed his mutations to slow his heart, to help will himself to sleep and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, and for the first time in a long time he felt…oddly safe.

Just as he felt himself beginning to drift off, he felt a clawed hand gently run through his damp hair. 

“I will protect you wolf…” The rolling voice echoed through his mind as he lost consciousness, the warmth enveloped him and the smell of _home_ permeated his dreams.

  


~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

  


Warm. Lambert was so warm, warmer than he’d been in ages. His legs and body were wrapped in something and he felt cocooned…in the bear skin? Something held him close that smelt like the mountains of his home. He inhaled deeply and nuzzled into it wanting to go back to sleep, or maybe—  


Hair tickled his nose and his lips brushed against bare skin. Tiredly, he opened his eyes and blinked at the pale chest dusted with fine black hair in front of him. The creature that held him—the vampire—shifted slightly around him, their legs were entwined and bare.

Lambert blinked sluggishly as his skin began to heat up. Warmth permeated them, yet he could feel the heat of Dettlaff’s breath caressing his ear stirring something in him even further. Shivering, he chanced a glance up at the vampire he’d been sleeping with.

Icy eyes watched him intently, framed by raven locks. It was that handsomely classic face again, now caressed by the light of the fire. At the moment it was awfully hard to believe the person beside him was actually a vampire. Dettlaff didn’t seem like the monster’s he’d learned about growing up at Kaer Morhen. Especially as a pale hand came up and brushed the hair away from his face. The thumb grazed his skin and lingered by his ear making his witcher wiring go haywire.

Lambert closed the distance between them with barely a thought. It felt like the right thing to do. It _tasted_ like the right thing to do. The hand wound through his hair and pulled him close. The vampire tasted like home. Like pine and crisp mountain air.

He breathed deep and flicked his tongue out, tasting and savoring. Dettlaff let out a low groan and he responded in kind, deepening the kiss. A hand skimmed down Lambert’s side, burning a trail into his skin and he trembled then broke the kiss with a start as he realized he couldn’t get his hand’s to work properly in turn.

Lambert struggled as he brought his burning hands into the light to get a good look at them. The length of his fingers were shiny and blistering. One glance at them and he tore his gaze away. He shook, fearing the worst.

“Oh God’s…” Lambert flushed crimson and licked his lips which still tasted like pine. Fucking witcher libido…it always got the best of him...great timing for his body to be acting out…

He couldn’t bare to look at his hands anymore or the vampire, so instead he cradled his hands to his chest and recalled his memories from earlier as he stared at the pale swath of skin in front of him. “How long was I out?” He asked in order to distract himself from their kiss and the pain he was in. He dreaded the moment he went to look at his feet.

“About five hours.” Dettlaff’s voice was deep and the accent thicker than it originally had been.

He flicked his eyes up to the vampires face and could see the confusion there, the longing. The vampire had mentioned being lonely…

Lambert tore his eyes away. He felt horrible, but the vampire’s voice sent an unwanted pang through him, so Lambert willed his mutations into play. He needed to calm his nerves. Distract himself. He needed to forget that kiss ever happened. Preferably.

Lambert felt the vampire pull away slightly to give him space, and he was grateful. He grimaced as their legs detangled and hissed as his left foot brushed against the rock floor.

“My foot…”

“…Is badly damaged. The frostbite has set in.” Dettlaff finished for him.

“Fuck…” Biting his lip, he forced his stiff body up, the warm bear skin falling around him. Try as he might he couldn’t get his clumsy blistered hand’s to work well enough to move the bear skin back over his legs. Frustrated tears burned into his eyes as his body refused to obey him. He _hated_ feeling weak, and especially not having control of his own body…

“Let me.” Dettlaff shifted to assist him and he closed his eyes to prevent stupid tears from happening. Please please Gods don’t let it be that bad…

When he felt his feet come free from the bear skin, he braced himself and forced his eyes open to take in the damage.

His right foot was still very red, slightly glossy, but healing. The left, the worse off of the two, had blisters along the big and next smallest toes, while the next two were swollen and reddish purple. The littlest was the worst off, a dark red purple. Gangrene quite possibly had already set in.

“Fuck!” Lambert roared into the cave making the vampire startle beside him.

Fuck his luck and fuck the blizzard, fuck Keira—“Fuck! Fuck everything…” He gasped out as his eyes began to burn in earnest, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t cry. They were just fucking toes, unimportant ones at that! But still…he wasn’t looking forward to this. He knew what had to be done….

“Fuck…Fucking blizzard—fucking horse and river…I need...” Lambert rest his elbows on his thighs and rubbed his burning eyeballs with the heels of his fucked up hands. Yes he was whining. He felt fucking entitled at this point.

“Swallow?” Dettlaff settled next to him and carefully rewrapped the skin around him that had fallen.

Lambert’s head shot up. “How do you know about Swallow?!”

“I…have a friend. Just one. He’s very very far away.” The vampire’s rolling voice deepened with pain and he looked away into the darkness.

Lambert’s empathy swelled. He could relate with that all too well. But he was getting closer to them…so close he could feel them. “I need…I need several doses. But I have no ingredients…my pack was lost in the river.”

“I could possibly find you some.”

Lambert looked back to the vampire and shook his head. Dettlaff looked serious as can be, but there was no point. “Yeah no. Everything is covered in about five or more feet of snow out there, and it’s dark. I just gotta suck it up, let my mutations do their thing…”

Suck was the key word and he was in for a lot of it. Especially without his potion, his supplies, clothing…Fucking river…

“You also need food, water.”

Dettlaff stood and went to his pile of clothing near the fire.

“You can’t be serious?!” Is he kidding?! Lambert’s eyes followed him, skeptical of his actions, but appreciative of the view. His eyes followed the vampire’s movements, admiring his pale skin and form. The vampire was lean, muscular and covered in fine black hair in all the right places---at least the ones he could see from the back.

As if feeling eyes on him, Dettlaff looked over his shoulder and drew his gaze. “Do you like what you see, Witcher?”

Lambert flushed at being caught, but didn’t look away. He wasn’t a coward, so what he was looking? And? “I dunno maybe? What of it?”

“You either like, or you don’t. There is no in between,” Dettlaff threw back at him as he bent over to pick up his braise.

_Fuck!_

He snorted and reluctantly averted his gaze, playing it off. “I _like_ to know who I’m sleeping with, that’s all.”

“I see.”

Still, Lambert watched as Dettlaff pulled on his trousers, then a linen shirt which he tucked into his undergarments, followed by a dark blue tunic. Next came a plain black surcoat with silver fastenings over which he pulled on a burlap bag which looked to be used for gathering herbs and supplies. He was well dressed and looked…sharp. Like he definitely shouldn’t have been sleeping in a cave.

“I can smell your arousal, witcher. Pity your hands don’t work.” The vampire chuckled at his own joke and Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, fuck you vampire.” His voice had no heat to it. The embarrassment was worth the vampire’s amusement—Lambert found he kind of enjoyed the sound of Dettlaff’s rich laughter in this lonely and cold place. He preferred it to the brooding mask of pain from earlier.

“Hey before you get the wrong idea---it’s a Witcher thing.” He watched as Dettlaff pulled on his boots and gloves in smooth, graceful movements. Icy blue eyes caught his own, still filled with mirth.

“Seriously. It is. We were trained in a castle, all young guys with nothing but each other.” Lambert let that hang until the vampire understood the implications. Icy eyes widened and Lambert’s never left him. Again, he wasn’t a coward. He felt no shame.

“The trials and mutation’s we were put through…One effect is it increases our chemical production. Namely oxytocin. Everything triggers it almost. The point is to key us up into caring about people, about our charges, contracts, who we’re protecting... It sucks—I don’t know what to feel half the time, about anything, or anyone. Honestly…I find it easier to just be alone most of the time.” Even though he detested being alone. It was better than people judging him or having to wrestle with himself or constantly question what he’s feeling or who he is.

The vampire tossed more wood into the fire, sending up a stream of sparks and turned to him, his face was in shadow as he bent down to shift the bear skin fur more tightly around him. “I do apologize then.”

He couldn’t make much of Dettlaff’s expression through the shadows, but he sounded humble enough. Not that it mattered. “So’kay Detty. Is what it is. I just make the best of it.” Shit happens to the best of us right? He looked at his hands morosely. Sometimes too much to some people.

Dettlaff nodded. It seemed they understood each other then. “I will be back later. Do try to rest.” The vampire stood and quickly disappeared in a puff of deep red smoke.

Lambert stared at where the vampire had been and into the fire. Rest wouldn’t come easily, even for the weary. Not with his hands and feet so frost burnt. Honestly he didn’t really feel capable of moving at all. The vampire had wrapped him up pretty well. Even if he wanted to it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Instead, he tried to meditate. Sitting on his rear with his legs out was not at all traditional witcher meditation stance. But when you’re tired enough…

He braced his elbows on top his thighs, took a really deep breath and held it in. He willed his mutations to slow his heart rate, and after several minutes he let it out. All thought escaped him and his mind went blissfully blank. All except for his self-preservation instincts which were kept alive at the front of his mind with his mutations.


	2. Sometimes a hero needs to find someone to help in order to save himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettlaff searches for supplies to help his new witcher friend and get's lucky. Lambert learns more about Dettlaff and what is in store for him--and faced with an uncertain future he begins to realize some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TrueTattoo is the best. I appreciate your input so much!
> 
> Warnings:  
Language  
Nudity?  
Semi-Graphic descriptions: Lancing, clearing dead skin  
Um...finger...molesting? Ish?

Out into the darkness he went with the blizzard howling and snow swirling around him. The elements had no effect on his immaterial body, so he was able to move with all haste. On his initial trip north, Dettlaff was so consumed and distracted by grief and self-hate he registered nothing of the rolling wilds and deep forests. All he wanted to do was escape—go to ground to maybe heal, maybe not. He’d lost everything! He’d wanted to die—had been ready to, but even that opportunity had been lost to him.

Now he had a purpose. The lone witcher, Lambert who’d wandered into the place he’d chosen to recuse himself from the world needed his help, and desperately. He wasn’t distrustful and hell bent on killing him like most of his kind. Not all all. The lone witcher seemed as lost as Dettlaff was. So for now he would aid him, help him as he helped other’s who fate had drawn to him in the past, or he’d been drawn to in turn. Perhaps they’d even be able to help each other.

Despite the darkness he knew where to go and headed West Northwest. They were currently situated far south of Kaer Morhen in the wilds of Kaedwen, just north of the Liksela River. To the east was Shaerrawedd, an ancient elven palace long since destroyed and south of them was the towering fortress, Leyda, ransacked long ago during the Second Northern War by the Scoia’tael. The next closest place that would possibly have the supplies he required was Ban Ard, a fortress known for its mining and magical academy. Dettlaff didn’t want to actually visit the fortress if he could help it. That would be too much of a risk. He was however hoping to get lucky and chance across a hunter’s cabin, abandoned shacks or even better, a merchant tucked away for the winter. Worse came to worse however, he would go to Ban Ard, determined as he was to help this witcher called Lambert.

Dettlaff sped along the rolling ceiling of pine and fir trees, unbuffered by the wind and constantly on the lookout for any sign of structures or caves. Despite the darkness and the snow, he could see perfectly fine, however he still took his time, going left than right in a zig zag pattern in order to cover as much area as possible. After about twenty or so minutes of hunting, his efforts were rewarded.

The first shack he came across had long since been abandoned. Its roof had collapsed in a snow storm long ago, and most of the inside was buried under ice and fresh powder. However the rotted door leaned inward, as did the remainder of the roof, which gave him hope.

He descended and materialized quite suddenly, though he touched back down without a sound. Dettlaff wrenched the rotting door open and tossed it behind him as the howling wind buffeted his raven hair and surcoat. Flecks of white began to coat him immediately, though the cold bothered him naught.

Ducking beneath the nearly collapsed threshold he stepped inside. The odor of rotting wood and mold assaulted his sensitive nose. Not exactly his favorite of aromas in the world but he stole himself against it and kept his sense of smell poised for anything triggering. Off to his right was what looked like the remains of a hearth and beside it stood a rotted wooden pantry. Beside the pantry a table lie in ruins and beneath and around it rotted and collapsing chairs. Dettlaff crouched and shifted around the rubble and decaying wood, looking for something—anything that may prove useful.

The tinkling of rock against metal or aluminum made him startle. Excited, he honed in on where the sound was and found an aluminum bowl. Not as big as he’d hoped to find but it was a start. He pulled open his bag and dropped it inside gratefully, feeling the weight of his burden grow just a little lighter.

Quickly misting up, he left the house and followed the same pattern as before across the tops of the trees. After another hour, he’d come across two more shacks that bore no fruit for him or the witcher. However shortly after that he’d come across _exactly_ what he’d been hoping to find!

Dettlaff veered to the ground and approached the lighted cabin hesitantly. He’d already resolved within himself what it was he had to do but that didn’t imply he was going to enjoy it. _Stealing from_ and possibly _enthralling_ a human were on the bottom of his list of things he ever wanted to do again. Stealing was below him, he’d long ago decided that. With exception of blood of course. But as of late he was rue to do even that. He’d already spilt enough human blood to last several vampiric lifetimes. 

Grief struck him then and he wavered next to the window, second guessing himself. What if the human attacked him? What if he was forced to—no. No he wouldn’t think about that. Now was not the time for self-pity! He had ways out need be. He could still go to Ban Ard should things go awry here. He had a human that needed help, one who was relying on him and may die otherwise.

Maybe, just…maybe—if he helped enough, maybe he himself could begin to heal as well? Of course he could never atone for the crimes he’s committed and the anguish he’d caused. But maybe…maybe he could dull the ache in his heart by doing so.

Resolving himself once more, he peered inside. The dim light was provided by a dying hearth. Dried herbs hung above it and there was a pantry full of canned goods and spices off to the side. A table sat nearby with the leftovers of the occupant’s evening meal, along with a skin that hopefully held water, or even better, wine! He felt elated as he imagined the witchers reaction.

There were barrels, and what looked like sacks of grain. And in the far corner he could see a nightstand and a bed. A man was curled up on his side, facing away from the fire. Dettlaff could see grey hair peeking out from beneath a blanket and his body rose and fell in an even rhythm, implying he was asleep.

Dettlaff crept forward and silently squeezed his incorporeal body through the cracks in the door. Inside he could see that by the door on the left was an old armoire, and at the foot of the bed, a chest. Shelves lined the walls on the left side displaying jars of ingredients ranging from drowner brains, ghouls blood, cockatrice eyes and even powdered pearl. The display sent red flags. This was no ordinary human’s cabin. This was a witchers cabin!

Instinctively, he floated back towards the door. He wasn’t afraid, not in the least, but the possibility of potential and unnecessary confrontation made him uneasy. Yet…everything the witcher Lambert could possibly need was _in this cabin._ He couldn’t leave!

Right, best to get on with it—need go for the most important items, ingredients first. The celandine hanging over the fire, the drowner brains on the shelf then some sort of dwarven spirit. The bandages—Dettlaff couldn’t see where those were. He’d have to dig around and hope he didn’t wake the witcher up.

Silently and with the utmost care, he materialized in front of the hearth and reached up for the celandine and snipped the thread that bound it with his sharp nails. Next, he crept towards the shelves near the armoire. The jar of drowner brains was furthest away of course, requiring him to lean over the end of the bed.

He reached over the sleeping witcher tentatively and grasped the heavy jar in his hand and carefully put it in his sack. The chest was next. Hopefully it contained linens that he could strip into bandages…

When he went to unlatch it, the witcher shifted and sat up.

As the witcher Lambert would say—Fuck.

Icy blue eyes locked on yellow cat eyes and flicked to where the drowner brains had been on the shelf.

Dettlaff seized the distraction, misted and shot towards the door.

“Wait!”

A gravelly voice called out to him and he froze.

The witcher threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, elbows on his legs. Dettlaff immediately noticed the lack of medallion around the witchers neck.

“What would a vampire need with drowner brains and celandine?”

Dettlaff wavered in the air, surprised. The witcher’s attention to detail was extraordinary.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m retired. Do you see swords anywhere, vampire?”

Seeing them or not didn’t matter. They could be nearby, hidden.

Dettlaff didn’t want to risk it. He’d go to Ban Ard and find the rest of what he needed. If for some reason he got hurt—Lambert—

“Those are the ingredients for Swallow. Now tell me vampire, who are you helping?”

Dettlaff floated back towards the tables and hovered high near the ceiling, pensive. “You’re very observant, even for a witcher.” His voice echoed in the cabin, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Yes, that is the nature of the profession vampire, something I happened to be very good at, as I’m still alive. Now tell me what you’re doing in my cabin.” The witcher looked up at him, his face worn and hard. Scars crisscrossed the tops of his shoulders and down his chest and some were in the shape of bites, while others looked like stab wounds.

“You wear no amulet.” Dettlaff pointed out what he’d noticed earlier, thinking it odd.

“Like I said, retired.” The witcher waved an impatient hand. “Why else would I be out in the middle of nowhere? Now please do me the kindness of telling me why you’re here. This is the last time I’ll ask before I go back to sleep and forget this bothersome discussion.”

Dettlaff could detect no hint of a lie in his voice; only weariness. His scent didn’t change, and his pulse was steady if not still incredibly slow even for a witcher. Perhaps this man could help him if he told him about Lambert….maybe?

He hovered, smoke shifting in agitation as he considered his options. It was a risk, but he was willing to take it considering this old witchers attitude towards the situation. Why not? He’d just mist up if the witcher attacked him.

Tentatively he floated down towards the hearth and materialized with one hand clenching the strap of his bag almost protectively. His eyes were black and blue now, glowing in the low light of the cabin and his other hand had started to change as he prepared to defend himself.

“Ah, there you are. Please, sit and explain your presence in my home.” The witcher ignored his defensive mannerisms and waved to the chair behind him. Dettlaff didn’t move.

“I have…a friend. He has severe frostbite. He was traveling and lost his horse and pack to the river. He—he’d fallen in, froze. Said he needed swallow.”

“See, that wasn’t hard.” The witcher stood and stretched languidly then turned his back to Dettlaff to open the chest he’d been about to open. “All you had to do was tell me what you needed.”

Dettlaff waited, surprised by how open the witcher was allowing himself to be, knowing that he, a higher vampire, could rend him asunder in seconds. Instead, the witcher turned to him and handed over couple vials of red liquid and some bandages. “Superior swallow. Tell him one is for drinking, the other is for soaking the bandages in. Make sure he removes any dead skin before wrapping the wounds. Then rewrap them a second time in dried bandages. After a day or two he should be fine.”

Dettlaff took the proffered items unquestioningly as the witcher thrust them at him and continued on to the pantry. Except—“Why are you being so nice?” He echoed the question Lambert had so nonchalantly threw at him earlier that day as he carefully placed the items in his sack.

“You know our kind stick together, Vampire. We’re a dying breed.”

Well, he couldn’t deny that.

“Give him this, but only after he eats. It’ll warm him and help with the pain. It’s called White Gull.” The witcher handed him a large bottle of silvery liquid. “And then these, these are dwarven spirits, needed for creating more swallow. You made need to save some, use it as an antiseptic for his wounds.”

Dettlaff stowed those as well, along with a bed roll the witcher handed him, dried venison, a couple pieces of fruit, some spices, a skin of wine and a linen blanket. His expression and posture had changed over the course of a few minutes from paranoia and trepidation, to that of surprise and gratitude. His heart ached with appreciation for this witcher and the kindness he was being showed.

“I…I apologize for intruding. I don’t know what ever I could do to repay you this kindness.” Dettlaff’s voice rolled out low and soft as the witcher came back to grasp at his now normal hand with a familiarity that astounded him.

“Take care of him. And forget you were ever here. That’s all that I require.”

He could respect that. “You have my word, witcher.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The thud of another log being dropped into the fire is what brought him back. Lambert opened his eyes and blinked as his mind and body situated itself. His amber cat eyes glowed in the darkness and locked onto the fire Dettlaff began to revive. It must have died while he had been meditating. Meant he must have been gone a long time.

“Welcome back,” Lambert said, his voice hoarse and making him cough. He rubbed his aching eyeballs with the heels of his hands in an attempt to relieve the painful throb. He must be dehydrated. Should get some snow and warm it by the fire—

“Here.” Dettlaff thrust a skin of something at him from the shadows.

His eyes widened in surprise and he grasped at it the best he could. “Where did you get this?! You didn’t steal it, did you?” Lambert uncorked the stopper with his teeth and used the heels of his hands to bring the neck of the skin up to his lips. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t wine! Definitely _not_ what he needed but it warmed him to the core wonderfully.

Reluctantly, he clumsily recorked the skin with his stiff and trembling fingers. The blisters had grown in the few hours he’d been meditating, and his hands had dried out. They felt horribly tight and he could hardly move them. He could hardly move his body for that matter.

The vampire shot him a look that screamed hurt. “I had been prepared to. I had started but—“

“Where…how, did you get all this…” Dettlaff had lain out a linen blanket, the top of which he’d began to cover with the items he’d collected. Lambert made a mental note that the vampire he’d just barely met was prepared to steal for him but was distracted by everything he’d laid out on the blanket. Dried venison, and some dried fruit—some spices to season any game they caught with. Lambert watched him in wonder and his eyes narrowed as the vampire went back to the bag he’d set down.

“An extraordinary act of kindness.” Lambert studied the vampires face for any hint of a lie but he couldn’t find any. He looked just as astonished as Lambert felt.

“No fucking way!” On top of two oranges and even a bed roll, the vampire pulled out a bundle of celandine, jar of drowner brains and several vials of what looked like different types of swallow and spirits…

“Is that fucking white gull?! What witcher did you kill to get all this?!” Lambert would know the silvery liquid anywhere! Some of his fondest memories were that of he and his wolf school pals, namely Geralt and Eskel, getting smashed and having a good’ol time together.

Dettlaff’s icy eyes bore into his own as he pulled out a roll of bandages and dropped them beside the vials. “I was stealing from him. He asked questions and decided to help you. It is a gift. I swore to him I would forget about him. Let us speak no more of the who or how of this, and just be grateful.”

Lambert nodded, still disbelieving. He could respect a lone witchers privacy. He’d been there. They all generally preferred to remain solitary above all else.

“He gave you two vials of superior swallow, one to inges—“

Feeling a little silly, he held up his gnarly hands and bowed his head. “Good sir, may I please have ye bottle’o white gull? Tiss my hands sir…they ache something fierce…” Lambert’s eyes pleaded with Dettlaff. “I am poor, crippled and dying!” Head still bowed, he grinned up at the vampire sheepishly and choked down his laughter.

The vampire stared him down hard, though Lambert caught a ghost of a smile tugging at Dettlaff’s lips. “No. He said that is for after you eat and unfortunately you must wait until we attend to your wounds.” The vampire turned from him, though he caught the tiniest tilt of his head. Ha. Made him smile!

“Seriously though, why not?” Lambert openly pouted. White gull is exactly what he needed right now. It would help so much with the pain he was still struggling to disassociate himself from!

“I will discuss the reasons with you after you eat, Witcher.” Dettlaff finally seemed to reach the bottom of his bag, his armed disappearing inside it entirely and withdrawing with a single tin bowl. The vampire gave him a pointed look. “I shall return shortly. Eat.”

“Geeze, okay boss,” he sighed heavily as he watched Dettlaff go off into the darkness. Guess he’d have to be content with wine. It was better than the _nothing_ he’d had minutes earlier. The wind still howled horribly outside. Hopefully he couldn’t be gone long…

Lambert stared longingly across the fire at the bottle of white gull and other spirits and for just a moment imagined that if he had the energy he’d be all over sneaking one _right now_.

Instead, he sat on the hard, cold, ground, tentatively picking at the dried venison and fruit. He didn’t eat too much as he didn’t wish to upset his stomach and settled for awkwardly sipping from the skin of wine on occasion. Warmth slowly blossomed in his stomach and just as it began to show on his cheeks, Dettlaff returned.

“Took you long enough just to get some snow eh?” Lambert watched as the vampire placed the tin filled with compact snow into the coals of the fire. Lambert scented something off about the snow, but couldn’t quite place it…Hm.

“Just snow, to clean your wounds with.”

“Ah. About that…”

Dettlaff chose that moment to settle next to him and their shoulders brushed sending a shock through Lambert’s body. He couldn’t tell if…maybe…it was his witcher wiring? Or if maybe it was something else?....Gods he hated not knowing all the time! He was tired of being confused.

Lambert inwardly sighed at himself and watched as Dettlaff swiftly picked up one of the oranges and started peeling it with a grace and speed Lambert had never seen before. He could smell the citrusy aroma that permeated it, and once it was fully peeled the vampire brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed.

“I take it you like oranges.” Dumb question number one of the night!

“Yes. Very much so.” The vampire plucked a morsel out of the orange, popped it into his mouth and sighed. Lambert could practically feel the pleasure radiating off him.

Lambert’s empathy swelled, happy that the vampire was happy, and nudged the vampire teasingly with his shoulder, “Vampire aphrodisiac?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

Dettlaff chuckled and popped another piece into his mouth. “No. Fruit is just something I really enjoy. It strikes a…cord in me. It’s difficult to explain. I especially love citrus.” The vampire surprised him and offered a small piece of his treasure.

“No Detty, you enjoy. You deserve it.” Lambert leaned into the vampire and brought the neck of his wine bottle up to sip on again, enjoying his treasure as well.

He waited silently, just enjoying the warmth of the fire and the fact that things may actually turn out okay for once, given time. They had food, ingredients and swallow—all thanks to Dettlaff. But, there was still the issue of his wounds which were getting harder and harder to ignore. The wine helped distract him, but it didn’t really dull the pain. So when the vampire finished, he decided to grip the gargoyle by the horns.

“So. My wounds…I could tough them out, and just take the swallow. Soak some swallow in bandages, wrap them and rewrap them. Might take me a week at most to heal. But those toes probably need to go.” Lambert scowled down at them like he was offended. Which, he kind of was. They were hideous and now he’d be losing a piece of himself. Albeit a useless piece, so that was something at least…Lambert shifted his gaze back over to the vampire who’d stiffened and pulled away.

“What’s with that look?” Lambert’s heart clenched as he began to worry, though not for himself. Dettlaff had that dark look on his face again, as if he were intensely troubled by something.

Almost reluctantly, the vampire began to speak. “How much do you know about vampires and their venom, their abilities?”

“Just that it makes people less resistant, really.” They didn’t know much about higher vampires. They were the unknown. Immortal, almost impossible to kill and few weaknesses if any at all. No witcher had much of an opportunity to learn anything, if anything about them. Most of what they know was based on assumptions rather than fact.

“That is…part of it. I can help you with your ailments, but…” he paused at length, appearing to war within himself, “I—I will need to draw from you.” Dettlaff’s eyes flickered over to him almost nervously before settling on the fire.

Lambert held his tongue and narrowed his eyes as he waited for more of an explanation.

“I can’t tell you exactly what my venom will do to you, just know that…I can help distance you from the pain, and in fact, for a time, it will bring you great pleasure.” Dettlaff looked over at him again, judging his reaction.

His eyes shot up at that. “What?”

Dettlaff stared at him, seemingly nonplussed at having to explain in laymen’s terms and tilted his head. “It’s an inherent thing, to make our prey less resistant. It weakens them. With the venom they usually find pleasure in a release, as do the vampire’s drawing from them.”

Ah. Great pleasure. Got it…His cheeks warmed slightly and he looked away. “Well, I suppose there are worse ways to die,” Lambert teased awkwardly.

Dettlaff feigned hurt. “You will not die, Witcher. I am sure you will be much too tasty to allow to waste like that.”

“Oh really?” Lambert returned his gaze to the vampire and grinned wolfishly. “I’m not sure whether I should be flattered, or worried. Are you secretly healing me in order to kidnap me and have your way with me for all eternity?”

The vampire let out a mirthful chitter, and Lambert’s eyes widened in surprise, never having heard a sound like that come from a human before—but, vampire, so…first time for everything?

“I’m afraid you may have found me out, young wolf. Alas, I am going to keep you.” Dettlaff teased back at him, showing fang.

Lambert felt himself redden and looked away. He was pretty sure the vampire was joking…? Though some inner part deep down that he usually kept under lock and key felt entirely too hopeful.

Dettlaff’s expression settled as he resumed their previous conversation, though there was still a glimmer in his eyes. “I’m sure you’re well aware of enthrallment as well?” Lambert nodded slowly still somewhat distracted by the last revelation. “I will enthrall you while your mind is in its weakened state and do my best to hold you there while I take care of your worst wounds first. You will feel pain, but it will be from a distance, at least while the thrall holds.”

“Okay…well that sounds like a better plan than just hacking my toes off.” He wasn’t exactly a fan of the idea of being bitten, but…Dettlaff had seemed to know what he was doing, and have proven himself as someone he could count on, going through all this trouble for him and for no other reason than he wanted to help. It…would be awkward, but he couldn’t see any better alternative.

“Can I at least have some white gull first?” Gods that would make it so much easier…

“Unfortunately, no. If I draw from you while you’re intoxicated with such a potent spirit, it will affect me. I need to be able to work quickly, before my thrall breaks.”

Lambert glared at the vampire and pointedly took a long draw of the mulled wine—

Which Dettlaff promptly stole from him.

“Hey, asshole!”

“Still a spirit, though much weaker than white gull. It’ll be here for you later.”

“I fucking hate you right now.” Lambert pouted. At least he’d gotten a nice buzz off of it while he could. “So what are you going to do while I’m out exactly?” He needed clarification to calm his buzzing nerves.

“I will spare you the unnecessary details. Just know, we will lance and drain your wounds beforehand, then remove the dead tissue and clean them. It will be uncomfortable, but less so than what you’d feel should you be awake for your foot." Dettlaff paused to make sure Lambert was following. “I would also reveal something more to you. My saliva heals though it cannot regenerate your appendages.”

Lambert’s eyes widened as he was slightly creeped out and slightly bothered for totally different reasons. “Wh—why are you even doing this? You—we just met! You don’t owe me anything!” His voice was thick, whether it was due to the wine, or due to his witcher wiring, he wasn’t sure. All he knew is he was really fucking touched that this random vampire would go through all this trouble for him!

“I seem to have a knack for being drawn to those in need, or for those in need to be drawn to me. And you are in need, are you not, witcher?” Dettlaff’s voice rolled out into the cavern softly, pulling at Lambert’s heart.

Lambert blinked away the burn in his eyes and quickly distracted himself by being silly again. He was reading way too deep into this and needed to break the tension. “Yes, oh chivalrous vampire…I am in desperate need of that white gull over there yonder! Please help this humble and maimed witcher!” The wine was finally starting to kick in so he was leaning heavily on it to lighten the mood and anxiety he was starting to feel.

Much to Lambert’s enjoyment, he’d earned himself a hearty chuckle mixed with another chitter from the vampire. “I told you dear witcher, _after_. You will need it.”

“Yeah yeah…let’s get this over with.” Lambert sighed and made to remove the bear skin. He was still fucking naked. He had _one_ pair of clothing with him, which was currently laid out and warmed by the fire, but he couldn’t put it on. Not till after this was finished, not if what Dettlaff said was true. And he didn’t want to get pus or God knows what else on the bear skin or his clothing.

“Let me.” Dettlaff stood and helped him out of the fur and set it to the side, totally unbothered by the fact that Lambert sat there in his birthday.

Which was fine for him. He wasn’t afraid to show off his junk. Hell they’d already slept together, kind of.

Lambert watched as Dettlaff laid out a knife and small pair of cutters at the edge of the linen. Along with the bandages and vials. He really hoped the vampire knew what he was doing with those. He could do it himself, if not for his hands—or toes. Okay maybe not really!...Damn it he hated not being able to take care of himself…

He tried not to think about the set of events that lay ahead and tried his best to focus on the now. The now of which was Dettlaff—stripping?...Ah. Probably for the same reasons he did. All the nasty…

Suddenly the vampire was sitting in front of him, also in his birthday and without a care in the world. Lambert was unsure if that was confidence, or just the fact that he _did not_ understand what modesty was! Either way, Lambert didn’t care. He was just enjoying the view—it took his mind off things—until without further ado, the vampire grabbed the worse off of the two feet and lay it on his thigh.

Lambert watched, somewhat terrified, but also enraptured as the vampire took the knife he’d set aside and braised it in the fire to sanitize it. Then he promptly sliced a neat vertical slit along the giant blister that ran along the top of his foot and into the first two toes. Pus slowly oozed out of the incision. It was obvious infection had set in. Quickly before the pus could make a mess, Dettlaff swiped up a strip of bandage, drained the blister and patted the rest of the nasty liquid away. Dettlaff then repeated the same steps with his other foot.

“I swear to the Gods, if we find my mare, I will let you drain her. I am so, sorry that you’re having to do this for me.” His voice choked as he looked at the state of his hands and feet. They were grotesque. There was so much work involved in fixing them—fixing the mess he’d made of himself. It felt like it was his fault. He knew he shouldn’t have gone onto the river, but he had.

One niggling little thought in the back of his head was telling him though, if you hadn’t crossed that river, you would never have met Dettlaff.

Lambert sat there, pondering the tiny thought and what it could mean, which actually served as a pleasant distraction as Dettlaff continued working on his hands. Apparently he’d been so deep in thought, he’d closed his eyes because suddenly there was a pressure on his shoulder and they shot open.

Dettlaff stared at him with an expression of concern on his face.

He licked his lips and nodded to show he was okay and played it off. “Meditating—helps to disassociate,” he numbly explained. The vampire nodded, though he still looked troubled. Was awfully nice of him to look so troubled.

Lambert watched as Dettlaff sterilized the small cutters in the same way as the knife, then started working off the loose pieces of dead skin from his feet, then his hands. The open wounds started to sting immediately as the cool air hit them and he shivered. All this did was make his hands and feet feel raw and he dreaded the moment anything would touch them. Worse came to worse though, he could activate his mutations to dull the pain, or turn it into something else more tolerable—but he really didn’t want to go that route if he didn’t have to.

Finally, Dettlaff reached for the bowl in the coals full of newly melted snow, slightly warmed from the fire. “I put my venom in this earlier, which is why it took me a while to return. I know this will hurt you.”

His veno—oh. The ‘great pleasure’ he’d mentioned ah ha. But, diluted in water? That probably wouldn’t be so bad. “That was very…considerate of you.” Lambert admitted quietly, touched. Very considerate, and smart. Perhaps later on if the vampire was still around he’d consider experimenting with his venom in other ways…? Kidding…maybe?

“Please do brace yourself all the same.” The vampire took a strip of bandage and soaked it in the water and wrung it out over his bad foot.

Lambert hissed immediately as he felt the sting intensify—then just a quickly, it dulled and almost hummed. He shivered as the venom took effect near the affected area and Dettlaff cleaned it with the cloth. The cloth still made the heat of the raw wound flare up, though it wasn’t nearly as harsh as before.

Dettlaff repeated the process with his other foot, then with his hands. Lambert drew up his knees slightly, rested his arms on them and buried his flushed face. It was painful, but it wasn’t at the same time. Somewhere in between—with an added hum that began to bother him the further on Dettlaff worked.

“It is time, Witcher,” the warm voice rolled over him like a shock.

His head snapped up, “What—time?” Wait. “I thought you were going to heal my hands and feet.”

Dettlaff arched an eyebrow, “Yes, but after.”

“No no no. Do it now.” Lambert steeled himself and glared at the vampire. “Look. I’m sure you can already tell but my wiring is all about to get keyed up anyway with you _feeding_ on me and pumping me full of that venom of yours. I’d much rather get this all done in one go than accidently get keyed up again after too by you licking my damn fingers. Unless you’re _trying_ to prolong my embarrassment?”

“What is there to be embarrassed about?” Dettlaff asked pointedly, cocking his head to the side.

“Gods…you—“ Lambert huffed out slightly, exasperated. Unlike some people, he didn’t like laying out his _issues_ in laymen’s terms.

“Listen. Your saliva heals. You have to lick my wounds—on my _hands_—whatever. I’d rather it be done _now_ before you feed on me and do whatever to my mind and body, rather than _later_ and me quite possibly getting worked up over it again. Does that make sense? I can’t really control when my witcher wiring is going to act up and turn whatever pain I’m feeling into something else and I just really want to avoid it whenever possible okay…” Lambert rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands again, shaking.

“As you wish, Witcher.”

“My name is Lambert, you fucker. If you’re going to feed on me at least give me that respect.” Lambert bit out at him, feeling defensive. He was wound up, his adrenaline kicking in with the diluted venom and his need to deflect away from his vulnerability. When he saw the look of hurt shadow across the vampires face, he groaned. He’d lashed out at—no he wouldn’t think about that person…Well he lashed out at them similarly and…well…He regretted it…

“Fuck…I’m sorry. I’m just…tense.” He locked his eyes with icy blue ones who seemed to understand entirely, though he didn’t say anything which made Lambert feel even worse. Sighing, he offered his hand to the vampire. “Please dearest Dettlaff, heal my wounds. I will forever be grateful.” He ground out, though he tried to hide the grin behind his knees.

The vampire gently took his hand by the wrist. “It would be _my pleasure,_ dearest Lambert,” Dettlaff’s glimmering eyes never left his own as the vampire brought one of his raw fingers to his lips. Lambert inwardly groaned at the sight and buried his face deep in his arms. “Just fucking do it, asshole.” Honestly, he was already effing wound up about this and his witcher wiring was just going to make the situation suck a whole lot worse for him. “Hurry it up already!”

Dettlaff chuckled, “I will do this as quickly as possible, as I know how uncomfortable you are. Please, refrain from twitching. I would hate for you to cut yourself on my fangs.”

Lambert said nothing and resisted the urge to flip the vampire off. He was just trying to help after all, and while he thoroughly enjoyed their banter, he was eager to get this done and over with.

He felt Dettlaff shift his grip on his wrist and begin. Tentatively at first, he licked a portion of raw skin, then another, all the way around one finger as he tested Lambert’s pain tolerance. There wasn’t any more venom, so there was no dulling the pain that was there, or the pain that flared at the touch of the vampire’s tongue. It hurt like a bitch, a rough tongue against raw skin and nerve endings, and his other fingers flexed painfully in protest—but he otherwise held still. Bit by bit he could feel Dettlaff’s saliva start to work its magic and he groaned as the pain slowly began to ebb away.

Dettlaff seemed confident in Lambert’s ability to control himself, so took the next finger as a whole. He could feel the vampires tongue laving gently at it. No teeth, or fangs, or sucking—thank God. Just a gentle, moist warmth that burned at first and then slowly went away.

_Fuck._

Lambert willed his mutations to shut the hell up and aim the blood flow somewhere _else. Anywhere else _ but they just wouldn’t listen! He felt the vampire work more quickly then, and he flushed deeper. Finally, Dettlaff gently replaced one hand atop his knee and went to work on the other. Lambert drew the healed hand to him and lifted his face just enough to inspect it. To distract himself. It was whole, though not entirely unmarred. There were still fairly deep recesses in the skin where it had begun healing, though the rawness was gone. Just a couple days of swallow wraps and his hands would be good as new. Lambert flexed his hand and cradled it to his chest as he waited for Dettlaff to finish and groaned slightly as Dettlaff softly sucked on his pinky before finishing.

Lambert shuddered and cradled his other hand to his chest. The heat pooling in his groin was going to kill him. He did his best to aim it away but his witcher wiring really wouldn’t cooperate with him for some reason. He certainly was glad that he’d asked Dettlaff to do this before, rather than after. He didn’t need double the awkwardness.

“Are you ready, Lambert?” The warm voice asked, actually using his name for once.

Lambert reluctantly withdrew from the nest he’d made of his arms and nodded. His face was flushed, but he met the blue eyes before him with confidence. This wasn’t his first time round the yard so to speak, but it was with a vampire.

“Just, drawing blood, right? And venom? You’re going to make me hallucinate or something and hold me there? Nothing else?” He just wanted to cover all his bases, not like he had a choice in the matter. He was in neck deep, no going back.

“Yes. Nothing else. You have my word. Then I will heal you the same as I did your hands.” The vampire shifted slightly and kneeled next to him. Lambert watched, heart rate picking up as Dettlaff moved closer—he leaned against Lambert’s bent legs and tentatively raised a hand to his cheek.

Lambert resisted the urge to lean into it, he was already shaking. He was paranoid, fearful—he would be made his most vulnerable ever, in his entire life, and at the mercy of a being who could render him limb from limb in an instant. And he…was starting to be okay with that? It terrified him. It made him want to run away fast as his batted feet and legs would carry him.

As if reading his thoughts, Dettlaff murmured, “I won’t hurt you,” His voice was calm and soothing, and Lambert could feel the power behind it, the warmth. He…truly believed the vampire.

Dettlaff’s other arm came around and pulled him closer. Lambert knew he wouldn’t hurt him then, ever, and his chest ached but try as he might his body wouldn’t stop trembling. The scent of pine and home had returned, they were so close. But now it was accompanied by something else—the orange citrus scent from earlier. Lambert flicked his eyes down to Dettlaff’s lips as he remembered how the vampire savored the orange, and inhaled the citrusy scent.

Oh, he wanted those lips right then as they dipped towards his neck—with every fiber of his being. His instincts were screaming at him to run, that he was about to die, but he warred them off, reminding himself that Dett wouldn’t hurt him, had already done so much to help him. Then there was the need to tell him, let him know—just in case this was a ruse, that—he felt…there just might be…something—

“Just this once…I’d like it to be real,” he breathed to himself under his breath and closed his eyes as three sets of sharp fangs sank into his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It's moving a bit faster than I wanted, but its due to the nature of their personalities. They're so quick to flee/push people away they need to be smacked in the face with things before they realize what's going on. Hint for next chapter!
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> P.s: This is all I have written so far. I have a bunch outlined and hand written but I need to type it up, embellish etc but I'll be heading on a trip this coming week. Hoping to get a lot of writing done but can't promise.


	3. Manifestation vs Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettlaff makes a very steep ascent into darkness. Lambert wakes up and realizes that he's been abandoned. Both go through severe mental anguish triggered by memories, wants and fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: With some research from a friend and short discussion I edited the color of his toesies based on the time that elapsed and severity of the frostbite. Just fyi.
> 
> Warnings:   
Angst  
Heavy fucking Angst  
Suicidal Thoughts  
**Attempted Suicide**  
Comfort

Lambert’s breathless last words—a mere whisper—sent him reeling and his mind into chaos as he tried to grasp at their meaning.

_“Just this once…I’d like it to be real.”_

Let…what be real? Dettlaff was real, was he not? He was confused, but then he remembered as the witchers gaze shifted to his lips, his vulnerable expression highlighted by fire, and his eyes—full of longing and fear which triggered other memories. He recalled all of their banter, the ghostly feel of a lingering gaze on his back as he dressed, all Lambert’s suggestive jokes, his playful teasing. He’d caught the way Lambert had looked at him with worry whenever his face clouded over in darkness…And the way the witcher had lit up when he laughed or smiled…Could it be…that in such a short amount of time together…the witcher had established feelings for him? Something—outside the realm of the ‘witcher wiring’ that he claimed interfered so often? Or was that just who Lambert was, and that he was reading too much into it? Considering the circumstances, he didn’t know what to believe…

His mind and body were torn, warring against each other. Past pains, regrets, bitterness, longing and lust—all threatened to overwhelm him—he wanted Lambert, but at the same time he didn’t! And suddenly, images of a black haired beauty invaded his mind as he drew blood and pumped venom, stalling him and making him shudder in anguish. Rhe--Syanna. _His_ black haired beauty.

Formally known as Rhenawedd, or Rhena as he’d called her. He remembered the night she’d approached him, knowing full well what he was and had embraced him without fear. He’d fallen for her instantly, entranced by her fearlessness, and in love with her acceptance of him. He’d studied courtship for her, had gone out hunting one evening as a feint in order to buy a ring for her, wanted to form a mating bond and she—

Tears leaked from his eyes and a sob shuddered its way through his body…

He couldn’t do this—not right now—not when he was needed so desperately by someone who he promised to help and might actually care about him!

The thought terrified him. He couldn’t go through that again!

Dettlaff clutched at the witcher, unmoving, unnerved, confused and filled with a longing beyond imagining—He wanted this witcher, to claim him—the man called Lambert. But—

Hands that shook wound into his hair and pulled him closer, reminding him, encouraging him. Distracting him from his thoughts.

Elation stole over him at the taste of Lambert’s blood, bringing him back into himself, and he drew—hard. Lambert tasted—he tasted like mulled cider and spices. It warmed him to the core.

He pulled on Lambert again and moaned. Venom from the sacs behind his fangs pumped forcefully into the witchers body who gasped and shivered as it took effect. Dettlaff drew him closer, cradling him in his lap, warming and comforting him, and pulled harder on the wound still. Their bodies thrummed together with energy. He drew again, long and slow this time and he shuddered, almost near and mind blissfully blank but for the taste, warmth and pleasure shared between them. His hand drifted up then, knowing the witcher was close as well and he ran his fingers through Lambert’s hair, letting his thumb settle against his temple.

“Dett…”

The surprising sound of Lambert’s voice sent him over the edge and he keened, drawing softly one last time. He felt the witcher shudder against him as well, and through his pleasurable haze he seized the opportunity and activated the secondary effect of his venom, hallucinations. Dettlaff groaned as he felt a slight ebb in his power as he willed the witcher into a series of long, pleasant hallucinations that would be slightly enhanced by the release they just shared.

Dettlaff clung to him for several moments, remiss to let go of that which he could never allow himself to have. Lambert’s trust in him pulled at him in ways he hadn’t felt since Rhe--Syanna. There was a sense of responsibility he felt to honor and covet that gift, but he—he wasn’t ready to embrace it, even if he was correct in reading Lambert’s actions and listening—hearing his words…he couldn’t. Not right now…not so soon after Syanna, and what he’d did in Toussaint...Once Lambert realized what kind of _monster_ he was, whatever feelings the witcher felt—if any—would disappear.

Reluctantly, he detached himself from Lambert’s neck and laved at the wounds, sealing them shut. Dettlaff’s eyes were closed and they stung, still lost in his thoughts, confused, and he rubbed his cheek against Lambert's instinctively and wished he could stall time and just…exist in this one moment.

_“Just this once…I’d like it to be real.”_

Lambert had chosen his moment—one he likely thought to be his last, and seized it. The words were uttered so honestly, when he was at his most vulnerable and trusting. The words—they stirred in Dettlaff something he hadn’t thought himself capable of in a long time. He had been completely and utterly consumed by loneliness, by his grief and heartache that he’d forgotten what it might feel like to potentially care—Lambert’s words reminded him, gave him hope, terrified him, yet he sobbed and rocked, hugging Lambert closer.

_“Just this once…I’d like it to be real.”_

Syanna was real! To him she was his morning, and he her night. Her light and his darkness combined and he’d never felt more alive than when he’d been with her. More complete, nor more accepted and loved, so he loved her back ten thousand fold and she…

She betrayed him—manipulated him—she feigned her own kidnapping and sent him letter’s, black mailing him into killing innocents. He’d never been so broken—so enraged when he found out just who and what she was, what she’d done to him and forced him to do!

When Geralt and Regis brought her to him, he was overcome—grief stricken, mad. His brethren rampaged, raising Beauclair on his behalf while he held Rhea—Syanna in his arms one last time.

Then he killed her and watched the morning light he’d seen in her dim and fade from her eyes.

When he turned, letting her lifeless body fall to the ground, he was ready to die. What he wasn’t ready for was the look of anguish on Regis’s face, nor for when the look transformed into one of astonishment and gratitude when the witcher Geralt spared his life.

It was all he could do to prevent himself from charging the witcher and inciting the fight that would end his misery. But he couldn’t—Regis—he’d lost his lover, he wouldn’t lose his best friend, his blood brother, too.

So he flew—away! He wanted to be away! From Toussaint, from Regis and everything that stirred painful memories, just as he now wanted to be gone from here.

_“Just this once…I’d like it to be real.”_

It…it could have been real. Dettlaff _wanted_ it to be real, more than anything. Perhaps overwhelmingly so, but he couldn’t bear the thought of drawing the witcher into him, letting him even deeper in, growing to care even more for him—even love him. 

It would only end in disaster, with both of them being hurt, possibly beyond all repair—he couldn’t…do that. Not again…

Reluctantly he pulled away, time was ticking. He began going through the motions of what was expected of him with trembling hands. Yellow cat eyes stared back at him, unseeing. If he hadn’t been expecting it, it would have been incredibly unnerving. Pausing, he tilted his head and listened to establish the witchers heart rate and trained his ears on it. It was slow and rhythmic. Relaxing, which was exactly what he needed right now.

Reaching over, he grasped at the bear skin and flicked it out behind the witcher, remiss to lay him on cold stone. At least this way he’d be somewhat comfortable. Gently, he lay him down, then quickly cleaned him up, then himself. He used the bear skin to cushion the witcher’s neck and head, turning it slightly so that his gaze would rest on the fire, away from him, and covered all but his arms and feet with its folds to warm him. If the hallucinations wore off before he was done, he’d use the fires flames to assist with enthralling the witcher. However he knew that if he hurried, it wouldn’t have to come to that and he…he’d be gone before the witcher woke up.

Dettlaff’s heart clenched as he was double checking his tools and he wavered as grief washed over him. They’d only known each other for such a short while and already he felt so stron—No. Stop. Just…focus on the task! But it was so hard, his eyes burned and blurred with every breath and his throat ached. Memories past and present flashed before his mind making it difficult to distinguish between them and reality…What was he doing…? He was double checking his tools. Vaguely, he realized he was missing one item. The dwarven spirit—for antiseptic, which he would need for later. He mentally kicked himself, it was an innocent mistake, but one that could have been costly—Regis would have never done it…

Growling at his forgetfulness, he retrieved it, then numbly washed the witchers feet with the rest of the snow melt and set to work. He decided that the three toes that were the worst off might still be salvageable, but he’d have to work fast before the witcher awoke. He was very concerned about the smallest toe, now a dark purple and immediately started in on it by cutting away everything that looked dead or irreparably damaged. Inside he was pleased to find the ligaments still intact, along with the veins and nerves. The frostbite hadn’t entirely set in yet.

Grimacing but wanting to get this done so he could be on his way, he pulled the toe into his mouth and laved it with his saliva. He was loathe to do it. He would much rather have spat into his hand and massaged the offending appendage but at the same time, he savored the last slight taste he’d ever have of the witcher’s blood. His body shook at the thought of the expression Lambert would have when he realized that the vampire he entrusted himself to so completely had saved the foot he thought lost.

He wracked out a sob and pulled away, stricken by longing and grief. He’d never get to see his expression, the joy…Tear’s found their way down his cheeks and he jerkily continued his work. He had—he had to finish! He needed to leave…or he’d…he’d…Wiping away the tears, he inspected the toe through blurred eyes. Its skin had mostly closed over and still looked very raw, and the nail had been done away with, but for the most part, it was whole. After a few days of the swallow bandage treatment Dettlaff knew the witcher would be fine,

Dettlaff numbly went through the motions of healing the other four toes. Then on the other foot. It took several minutes since most of the dead skin had been done away with and all he had to do was apply his saliva. After he’d finished, he swayed and closed his red eyes. He was reeling now, his mind a torrent of anguish and longing, pain and self-hate, just one step closer to being alone once again—but it was for the best. It had to be, he had to believe that or…

Dettlaff trembled and opened his eyes. He was almost done. Now he just had to apply the antiseptic and bandage him up.

Before he could do so however, he wanted to take one extra cautionary step. Shifting, he reluctantly sidled back up to the witcher and replaced his shaking hand on the man’s temple and focused on the eerie yellow cat eyes. Dettlaff searched, trying to find the right emotions within himself. Tear’s slid down his cheeks and down to the witcher below as he shook into his shoulder, hunting for the right feelings to will into power. When he finally did, he reached out with his aura and filled the witcher with calmness and peace. It was a partial enthrallment—one that focused on the human’s mental state, rather than both mental state and physical control. He knew the antiseptic might sting a bit, and he didn’t want the young wolf to feel additional discomfort while he remained under his care if he could help it.

He knew it had taken hold when the wolf’s eyes fluttered shut. Satisfied, he bitterly forced himself away and dribbled the spirit over each foot and gently pat it dry. Then he poured a bottle of swallow into the tin bowl and soaked the bandages. Then he wrapped the left foot around the top, and then rewrapped it more thoroughly with a dried bandage all the way around back to the Witcher’s ankle, then tied it. He repeated the same for the right foot. Next, he did the hands. Throughout the process he kept a keen ear on Lambert’s heart rate which hadn’t changed a bit since he started, the exact opposite of his own.

That…actually went much better than he’d hoped, despite his unsteady hand. Dettlaff’s heart clenched, wishing his best friend Regis were there to see what he’d accomplished. Regis would have been so proud. And Dettlaff he…he—he wanted to be there, for Lambert! When he woke! To reassure him and hold him again just to inhale his scent and see the warmth in the witchers eyes and smile when he realized that Dettlaff hadn’t drained him—that his trust hadn’t been misplaced.

But he couldn’t! He just couldn’t! He stood and backed away, fighting back a sob as tears slid down his cheeks in earnest now that he was done. Lambert’s trust—Dettlaff wasn’t ready or capable of embracing it past this point, and in fact he was going to shatter it completely and for all time.

Quickly, before he changed his mind, he ran for the cave exit, shifted into his bestial form and flew off with a pained screech. He left everything there for Lambert. The food, spirits, the orange, the bear skin which he didn’t really need, his precious bag. Dettlaff didn’t need anything there. It would only serve to remind him of the memories they shared and the friendship that could have been.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Shifting to his side, he nuzzled into the fur skin he lay atop of and scowled, his expression pained. Lambert's head felt like it was about to split open and it throbbed painfully in time with his heart rate—which all things considered, was blessedly slow and _still beating._ He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the fur—the scent of him and Dettlaff—and it filled him with a quiet happiness he hadn’t felt in so long.

Squinting open his eyes, he looked at the flames—now quickly dying. He felt warm, and he could feel bandages wrapped tightly around his hands and feet. The wind of the storm continued to blow from outside, and the dim light of the dawn had slowly began to filter into the cavern.

Lambert grimaced as his head throbbed and pushed himself up on his elbow, eyes searching. He couldn’t hear the vampire, nor see him anywhere near. So far, whenever he woke up, the vampire would be nearby—but now though…Gingerly, he sat up and looked around the rest of the cavern and winced as his neck panged, feeling like one giant bruise. He reached up gently massaged the spot as cat eyes hunted around the shadows for Dettlaff, feeling hopeful that maybe he’d fallen asleep somewhere—but he was alone.

“Detty?” His voice echoed in the cavern and rolled down into the depths, reverberating and almost laughing back at him. Nothing. He wasn’t there!

Immediately, he began to panic, head whirling. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to _calm._ Everything was still there, even Dettlaff’s bag—which in itself didn’t mean anything! He could have just—stop it you stupid Witcher. He is his own person! He could come and go as he pleased!

…Still, the fire had been dying, the stack of wood lay nearby untouched, next to his dried clothing. The vampire had been gone a while already, doing what? Going where? For how long?!

Lambert huffed out a slightly shaky breath—stop. Just…stop. There’s no reason for him to overthink this. He just went out is all…right? He just had to wait a while, he’d be back…

He’d needed to dress anyway and head out for a moment, if only to relieve himself of all that wine he’d drunk, and grab some snow to melt so he could have something to drink to help with his headache. It would be good to get his body moving, stretch his stiff muscles after sitting in one spot for almost a whole day. So there, now that he had found himself a purpose, he focused on it, glad for the distraction. Quite a frustrating distraction though—he couldn’t do much with his bandaged hands and feet. He felt hobbled as he went over to the wood pile and awkwardly threw on a couple logs and pieces of kindling. Then he felt fucking decrepit as he stared at his clothing.

“Fuck my life.” He glowered and plopped his bare butt down on the linen blanket next to his clothing which were stiff but blessedly dry and warm. Braies first—he lifted them awkwardly with the tips of his bandaged fingers and stuck his feet in, then bandages got stuck and his head throbbed as he struggled and huffed but eventually managed to pull them on. Next came the trousers—same issues, but with a few choice words and some wiggling he managed to get those on too.

Next came his rough linen shirt which was _much_ easier to get on by contrast, followed by his black over shirt. He left his gear off to the side, not really seeing the need or reason to struggle with it at the moment. He wouldn’t be going anywhere except outside and back.

At least it was easier to see now, as he grabbed the tin and wrapped the bear skin around his shoulders. He made his way to the front of the cave and braced himself as he stepped out into the bitter cold. Snow began sticking to him, stinging his face and soaking into his bandages. He cursed and hurried out a few steps, dropping the tin and doing his business. Then as quick as he came out, he scooped up some snow and hurried back into the cave, shivering.

“Fucking worse time to go back to Kaer Morhen. I should’a just went to Novigrad,” he lamented as he sat down and huddled next to the fire. He stuck his feet out to help dry the bandages and set the bowl of snow in the coals. The linen blanket lay next to him and he cleared it off and wrapped it around him with the fur and shuddered. The spirits and white gull lay nearby, but sorely tempted as he was, he needed the water. It had been at least two days since he’d had anything to drink but wine. The Swallow lay next to them which he took a dose of too and silently thanked the anonymous witcher for his generosity. Witcher’s always stuck together—so he’d remember to pay it forward one day.

Pulling the blanket and skin tighter around himself, he huddled in front of the fire and shuddered. For some reason that he couldn’t quite fathom—whether it be his paranoia, or his high strung empathy—he _felt_ something was wrong. That he’d missed something crucial—like he had when his friend Aiden was ki—

_Aiden._

His face folded in on himself and he gasped out, cursing. He wouldn’t think about _him_ right now. He couldn’t. He couldn’t…

He opened his eyes which were glassy with pain and he stared into the fire feeling his hope deteriorate. Aiden was gone…and now…

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Huge black wings beat fiercely against the howling wind as he barely maintained staying above the tree line. Flakes of snow coated the black fur all around his body and his nose had dried out in the cold air yet it twitched relentlessly, scenting the current for anything triggering. His ears were on a swivel, twitching this way and that, alert for dangers. Every so often he’d let out a harsh chitter which reverberated to the ground below, sending him back distorted images as he hunted for prey. Dettlaff lost himself to these senses, let them overwhelm him, and reveled in them in fact.

But every so often the pain and grief would overwhelm him, or a memory or image of the witcher Lambert would appear in his mind. He’d let out an anguished shriek and falter. His flight would fail him then and he’d become torn, confused. He’d war within himself on which direction to go—what to do—He knew he made the right decision to leave the witcher Lambert but his heart and body were insisting otherwise!

At one point he’d become so disoriented he’d slammed into a tree, falling through the branches which ripped at his wings and he landed with a soft thud in a pile of fresh powder. He lay there, feeling utterly lost and alone, keening and chittering away in pain and wishing for something—someone to come end his misery.

He hated Geralt then, the white haired witcher who showed him mercy, and Regis for siding with him. Regis, the only person in the world who he loved without fear, without restraint. His Brother, who he had painstakingly saved over a period of months—years. How could Regis be so blind—how could Regis, the scholar and humanist, who claimed allegiance with humans and who had so much empathy for them, have no empathy for his blood brother and deny him the freedom of peace and the ability to rest, eternally?

Dettlaff shrieked in his anger and threw open their bond then, which had been closed off for so very long. He sent a torrent of _hatred_, _anguish_, _longing_ and _regret_ straight to Regis’s heart. He lost himself to the feeling and screamed and clawed at the ground as it reverberated into his very core. Snow blinded him and burned his nose, and his wings ached and stung from the fall, yet he didn’t care—he needed freedom—release.

He keened lowly, his body shuddering as he was overwhelmed and It was mere seconds before he felt a pulse of **_comfort, love_** and_ **desperate concern**_ return to him from his Brother who he hated so dearly right then.

With a growl he struggled upright sending _hate_ and _anguish_, then launched himself through the trees. Up and up he went, wing’s straining at the near vertical climb. Branches whipped at his muzzle and wings, and the wind tore at his eyes, but he didn’t care.

**_Comfort, love, desperation_**_…_His Brother, pulsing at him incessantly_._

Higher he went, and higher, into the clouds. Condensation clung to his wings and froze instantly, weighting them down. _Misery. _His wings muscles strained against his increased weight and the wind. Yet still, he flew higher until he passed the cloud line and the sun blinded his eyes. _Despair. _The air was so thin that if he had been required to breathe, he wouldn’t have been able. He rose until his muscles burned, and his wings were stuttering, losing their strength. _Defeat. __Failure._

His mind was a flood of mismatched thoughts, some his, some Regis's, interspersed by images of people he knew and would never see again.

**_Pain, confusion._ _Fear_**_…_Regis screaming at him...**_Misery, desperation, longing_**…his best friend…Regis…His lover Syanna...Lambert…friend? Lover!?

Frozen wings gave out, he let go and snapped their bond closed. He let go…Of everything. Instantly he reverted back into his base form, and he fell. It was blissful, freeing. Dettlaff closed his eyes and relaxed his mind—in the emptiness, and reveled in the cool air as it whipped his hair and clothing. Ice began to form on his skin, flakes in his eyelashes and tears froze as they flew from his cheeks. It was beautiful release. And maybe…just maybe…it would work this time, that maybe he’d be able to find peace. Rest.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lambert watched morosely as the coals heated the logs and embraced them, growing, then engulfing the rotted wood. The warmth of the fire worked its way back through him, and he remembered—vaguely—being shifted to face it at one point while he hallucinated—and then lightly dreamt.

He’d dreamt of Kaer Morhen—in his younger years. He, Geralt and Eskel sparring, egging each other on, goading. They’d fight so intensely they bled, but it was a good feeling. They loved it—loved each other. In the end they’d often collapse in a pile of sweat and trembling limbs, chests heaving and gasping for air as they laughed. He dreamt of his Mother too, of better times, when he was more naïve and didn’t _realize._ She had been holding him, singing and he laughed—then the scene switched to him being cradled by Geralt after he’d suffered through the Trial of Grasses. He’d grinned up at his friend, and he remembered saying _I didn’t scream, I didn’t!_ And they had laughed, nervously, full of adrenaline and worry—he’d survived, and he’d forever remember the look of pride in Geralt’s eyes.

Keira made an appearance in his dreams too, as she’d saved him at Kaer Morhen—how entranced he’d been by her, infatuated. He’d followed her after thinking hey, what the hell! This could be fun—

And it was, for a time. Geralt had his sorcerer, why couldn’t he? But it felt forced. It didn’t feel like…like with Aiden. He dreamt of Aiden too. Genuine…Pure. Lambert—he…he was tired of running. So he gave in to Aiden—he let himself love. The moment he’d accepted the truth of the things he'd been feeling had been the happiest moment in his life.

At one point, he’d been dreaming of the cave—when the fur fell over his shoulders and he’d been so utterly relieved and thankful. It was then that he swore he heard crying, and felt shaking, tears fell against his shoulder, trickling down to his chest.

Pain welled up inside him at the thought of Dettlaff grieving, crying into him—why would he be? Where was he?! Lambert bit his lips as he tore his gaze from the fire and into the storm outside, willing the vampire to reappear, hoping he wasn’t just confusing his dreams with reality.

He thought back, trying to place everything together. The bite—the closeness and the pain turned ecstasy, how Dettlaff had shuddered against him and he had in turn…He shakily stood, remembering. The trembling against his shoulder, a sob—tears—foot steps that pounded towards the exit and a screech from outside?!

Bitterly cold air whipped at him as he followed the trail of his memories—dreams—hallucinations?! Yellow eyes were wild and searching, his heart sinking—

“Dettlaff?!” He yelled out into the dim morning light, his voice was carried away by the wind. He sounded small and insignificant. Powder clung to his clothing and blanket and dusted his hair. His eyes were blinded by the wind as they narrowed and searched the snow covered trees. He listened. He heard creaking, the wind—his pounding heart.

“Dettlaaaaaff!!” His legs carried him out further, his bandages soaking through and body shivering—he didn’t care. 

“DETTLAFF!!” He choked, eyes blurring as misery crawled up his spine. Misery and old hurts long buried. A small voice inside told him, _see? You knew this was going to happen…How dare you hope! How dare you want something!...You are nothing, unlovable! Worthless!_

“DETTLAAAAFF!!!! He let out a strangled cry, collapsing into the snow as grief overwhelmed him. He grimaced as his chest tightened and choked as his throat began to close. His eyes closed as he huddled in on himself and his body began to shake, though not from the cold, but from rejection.

“FUCK! Why…why do I do this…” He snarled and grit his teeth and tears began to leak their way out of his eyes. Instantly he imagined the vampire’s eyes, warm in the firelight and dancing with concern and tenderness as he tended to his feet and hands. He had misread him! That wasn’t…tenderness. He was seeing things—_deluded_—only seeing things that he wanted to see! And he saw them in a monster—a vampire—who had no obligation to him whatsoever! Oh he said he wanted to help—that it was an act of kindness, but had Lambert really misread the warmth of his laughter, the ghost-like touches, the groan when they kissed and fire from his fingertips? Did the vampires skin heat not from want, but from _embarrassment_? Had he really misread that too? Had it been a groan of _disgust_, rather than one of longing and need? What about the power in his voice when he promised Lambert that he wouldn’t hurt him!

He doubled over, his forehead brushing the snow as sobs wracked his body. He had believed him then! But he had misread that too! He’d meant physically—he wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t drain him—not that he wouldn’t hurt him at all!! And he—he’d told him then—

_“Just this once…I’d like it to be real.”_

Lambert lost himself then, tears rolling in earnest and he shook—trembled. Snow soaked through him but he did not feel the cold. He wanted to go—he wanted to go home! To see Geralt and Eskel and his stupid goat! He wanted to see Geralt smiling wryly at him, holding a bottle of white gull in one and pepper vodka in the other. He wanted to be with them, drinking themselves into a stupor until they gave up and found each other like they always did and he found himself warm between them in the only place he felt truly loved—with his face buried in Geralt’s neck and Eskels arm around him—that’s the only place he could find peace. The only place he could really call home.

And Dettlaff was gone, yet that didn’t stop Lambert from putting him there in their place. The vampire of Kaer Morhen, Geralt would tease. Dettlaff laughing in the deep way he’d come to know and in such a short amount of time, love. But he was not here, and that made it worse. He’d known the vampire for just over a day at this point and he’d already fallen for him! He’d lost the battle from the moment he looked up and set eyes on the man. Even his mutations had betrayed him—refusing to dull the ache he felt at his touch, or quell the empathy when his eyes grew distant and dark.

“Like a fucking love drunk child,” Lambert hissed to himself, voice cracking as he wiped away the frozen tears with bandaged hands which were immediately replaced by others. “One fucking day, just one—one fucking show of kindness and fuck me…fuck me…!”

Fuck his softy heart and his empathy, fuck his witcher mutations—just….fuck it all…he couldn’t do this anymore…he was tired of running, tired of pushing people away and being hurt when he didn’t…He didn’t want to—it was too hard…

And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? The path had taken him to so many places. He’d met so many people, angry people, suspicious people who were scared of their own shadow, judgmental people who condemned him merely for what he was, despite the help he only wanted to provide. When he got tired of it, he’d hiss, yell, fight—he’d spit back when he was weary enough! Sometimes he even refused to react to them at all. But in the event that they didn’t?...If they showed him, some small, tiny bit of kindness?

Memories flitted by…A squeeze on his shoulder and a smile from an aldermans daughter he’d helped save. The laughter of a child who ran up to hug his legs and their parent’s looked on gratefully. A hug from a woman who’s prized chicken was stolen by a group of hungry trolls, and the trolls thwapping him roughly on the back as he returned with turkeys to trade for it. They sat him down then, forced him to enjoy the meal—bones, feathers and all, and he did—and for a moment, he felt kindness, warmth, like he belonged, like people cared. He wanted to love…he wanted to belong, be wanted—needed. And he ran.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Tears leaked from Dettlaff’s eyes and froze as he felt the ground rush up to meet him and he sobbed, ecstatic and relieved. Even if this didn’t work and he was left shattered and broken, at least maybe for a time he’d be able to be distracted by healing. Just maybe he’d be able to forget and heal—from everything. Being the Beast, killing Syanna, abandoning Regis and Lambert…Being so alone...

**_Anguish_** that was not his own hit him and his eyes snapped open, wide with shock and tears.

**_Bitterness_ **and **_self-hate_ **were next and with a pained howl of confusion he willed himself into his mist form, stalling his decent then shifting back, unable to focus among the turmoil in his mind—their minds!

**_Longing, desperation _**and **_grief_**.

Dettlaff jerked and gasped, overwhelmed—he shifted in between his base and mist form several times unable to control them as his mind whirled in tumult and finally he landed with a thud into a small clearing, his body jarring deep into the fresh snow. His eyes were wide with tears and his lips drawn back into a pained grimace as he sobbed. It was Lambert! The witcher—was a wake! He’d realized Dettlaff had gone! And he’d—he—

**_Anguish. _**His own and Lambert’s anguish wracked its way through his battered body and he curled in on himself, realizing what he’d done. He wailed into the snow around him, his heart clenching—tearing in pain and longing. He’d created an ill-formed bond with the witcher!

He almost lost himself then as his mind was turned into a raging torrent between his and Lambert’s emotions. Anger, pain, grief, longing, want, need, regret—they were one and the same, he couldn’t decipher it, separate them! He keened as he fought to control it, block it off, remove himself from the torrent but he couldn’t tell one from the other—

The emotions kept pinging him, and he kept confusing them with his own, and after several minutes he realized the torrent wasn’t going to abate, it was deepening. He shuddered, realizing the only thing he could do would be to embrace it. If he could get back to Lambert, comfort him—he may be able to close it off. Then…then maybe he could think. Think on this thing he’d done. Think on them. Them!?

Dettlaff grimaced and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His body was whole, but horribly bruised, which would heal quickly with the blood he’d taken from Lambert. His heart however was battered and torn. With a pained howl he misted, heading back towards the direction of the cave, following Lambert’s pulsing cries of **_grief._**

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Snow began to bury him and he shook. Lambert made the mistake once of not running. He was tired of running—he allowed himself to give in—to want. Aiden had found him. The one person amongst many in the thick of all else who absolutely would not allow him to run.

Aiden.

The memory of the other witcher yet again flooded him with warmth. Aiden. Warm, smiling, conniving, Aiden. Aiden who pushed him, prodded him, refused to let him withdraw or clam up. Aiden, who pushed back and fought. Aiden—_his Aiden. _The calm to his storm, the spring to his winter. For the first time, he had found happiness—love. He’d found…everything. Everything he’d ever wanted. He was wanted, needed, loved and content—and it was stolen from him! Aiden…he was gone!

He wailed and keened—rocking back and forth. He’d missed Aiden’s touch! The sting against his backside as he allowed himself to be vulnerable, as he allowed himself to love, to embrace—to feel…

A broken sob wrenched itself from him and he heaved, burying his face in his knees. He pulled the snow sodden blanket around his shoulders so tight his healing hands screamed in protest. The gate was open now and he howled.

Aiden!

He cried and he sobbed, snot running down his nose as his grief overwhelmed him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think—he could only shake as memories of his lover flashed through his mind. When they had met, when they fought. When Lambert continued to push him away and Aiden, his Aiden, _his_ Cat witcher, continued to follow and track him again and again and again until he gave in. The happiness they shared, the longing and _need_. Slowly, the memories became intermingled by a strange man with dark hair and blue eyes. His tender looks and the warm smiles. A touch of skin and shock between him. His rolling laughter that had become so endearing to him in such a short amount of time…

Dettlaff.

He keened and curled in on himself, falling over just as arms wrapped around him.

He thought they were a hallucination, hoped that maybe this was a dream. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear or smell. But he could feel them—feel their warmth. He roared and choked as arms began to shield him from the biting cold and he was pulled into a warm body. A soft cloth pressed against his face and he cleared his nose immediately. Another memory kicked in then, flooding him with warmth. His mother would do the same in moments of quiet when they wept and his father was not around.

Soft and tender, the cloth cleared his vision and he looked up to the illusion—

What he saw there made his heart twist all the more. Tender, ice blue eyes stared down at him, filled with tears. Dettlaff was looking at Lambert, eyes full of concern, hurt…and something more causing the vampires face to fold in on itself.

At the sight, the empathy he felt in his broken heart made him scream out and he shoved into the vampire’s chest, dropping the blanket. “WHY!?” He howled at the vampire, his voice broken. Again he was wracked with sobs and clutched at the chest in front of him with fingers that ached, torn between pushing him away and clinging on for dear life.

“Shhhhh witcher…Lambert. I am here. You are safe….”

Arms and hands pulled him close again, warm and strong and comforting. Lambert sobbed when the scent of the mountains of Kaer Morhen enveloped him. He wouldn’t have that comfort either! Vesemir…Vesemir was dead.

Anger and grief flooded through him, renewed. He wanted to punch something! He—he wanted to do something—anything! To make the pain stop, to find peace…

“I—I can’t do this…” Lambert choked, his voice cracking and broken. “I…”

“Shhhhhh. You are safe, you are okay. I have you.” He could hear the shake in the vampire’s voice, and felt a tear hit his hair. Fuck, he was making the vampire cry!

“Leave me!” He howled and shoved weakly at the vampire, willing him away.

“I am not leaving you.” Dettlaff’s voice was raw, a whisper as he held Lambert even tighter, his grip steel against his back.

“Why!? You should! Every—everyone does, they always do! I…please…just let me…I…” he couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to die, to sink down into the cold and let darkness take him.

“No…I will not…” the vampire heaved against him and shuddered, “I cannot.”

“WHY?!” Lambert howled, ripping back from him. Tears streaked his face, some frozen. Flakes of ice gathered on his eye lashes—He could see Dettlaff was in the same state, but he could see fear there. He felt the vampire’s hands shift. Their eyes locked, and for a moment Lambert could see something behind those eyes, a pain, a pain as deep as his own reflecting back at him.

He felt the vampire’s warm hand touch his face and shuddered as a thumb trailed across his cheek. Then, warm lips against his which he melted into. They were soft, yielding. His world ground to a halt and a warmth permeated through his very being as fire raced through him. He groaned and crushed the vampire to him. Pulling at the tunic hurt his hands, but Dettlaff returned in kind and pressed against Lambert. He felt a shudder race through Dettlaff which he mirrored. He couldn’t—he couldn’t breathe, his chest was tightening. He broke away with a sob and snot strung between them. He would have laughed if he could, but instead his lip trembled.

He searched those icy eyes that were deeper than the sea, clearer than the sky. What he saw startled him, and emotion took him over once again. He broke, clinging to the vampire with broken hands as he crawled into his lap and sobbed, long and hard.

“I have you…I have you.” Dettlaff whispered into his hair, “I have you, you are safe, you are shielded, you are warm, I will protect you...”

Lambert groaned as the vampire began to rock him slowly and out of the corner of his blurred eyes he saw a shadow. He felt claws at his shoulders and then the warmth increased. He cleared his eyes and realized he was being cradled by wings, soft and warm, and he sobbed once again wrenching his eyes shut.

He willed this not to be a dream—not to be a hallucination. He sobbed and cried, all the while the vampire whispered to him words of comfort in a language he did not understand. Softly, being rocked, his back being stroked, he sobbed. Until his body, devoid of strength, finally allowed the comforting black of unconsciousness to drag him into a slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to TrueTattoo for her help with some of this dark void stuff and a good chunk of imagery/thought pattern. My heart hurts. I need to fluff it up now!


	4. Questions are Raised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis reels as Dettlaff strikes himself down. Lambert wakes up in the best possible way, and Dettlaff raises questions that don't have any chance to be answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
Angst and Fluff  
Fluff and Angst  
Implications of suicide attempt  
Hurt/Comfort

Rain pelted the window he sat next to, and a maelstrom howled outside. It was early morning, and the dead man’s tree down the road was slanted, the bodies below it blowing vertically. Nearby he could see a lonely merchant struggling to bring his horse to the stables. The poor man was a little late in coming. There were no rooms available.

The small town was bustling as it sat at a cross roads between several larger towns, Alderbergs, Rivia, Lyria, Spalla and Scala. Regis had arrived a few short days ago and hunkered down, having felt the chill in the air and seen clouds far off on the horizon. He knew they would be coming, travelers, merchants, vagabonds, even the rare and lone witcher making his way back to Kaer Morhen would occasionally seek shelter here during a bad storm. The town lay on a raised plateau of land, slightly higher than the river south of them, which would protect them in the event of a flood which a storm like this promised.

If he were to hunker down, it certainly was the best place for him to be. Amidst a busy inn, filled to the brim with talkative farmers, noisy children, boasting merchants and the lonely and quiet vagrant. Especially if one were searching for information—hunting for someone, or pursuing a contract. When the mead and wine began to flow, one would be surprised the kind of rumors or facts you’d hear!

Regis cupped a mug of warm, mulled wine with both hands and raised it to his face, inhaling deeply and his lip pulled back—just slightly, as he scented it. The aroma of ingredients he knew by heart pinged at him, triggering his memory, and he nodded approvingly, especially at the last. Erveluce, peppercorn, cloves, cardamom, allspice, cinnamon, vanilla and…orange citrus! Ah, he was borderline obsessed with citrus. It was wonderful—intoxicating! He brought the drink to his lips and took a sip and let it warm him on the way down—_delicious_.

The black and silver haired vampire lost himself in the pleasantness of the drink for several minutes and allowed his mind to become blissfully blank. It wasn’t too often he got to relax and just enjoy—existing. Living in the moment, as humans might say. Many humans took the fragility of their lives for granted, and failed to appreciate moments of peace like this. He’d wished he could teach them the error, open their eyes. But when your life span is as short as a humans, he could understand their hurry.

He sighed, and black eyes tore away from the storm outside to shift across the hearth before him. He sat in a shadowed corner, far away from the door and by the window so he could watch—listen. Light from the hearth and candles flickered across the inn, throwing shadows this way and that as people moved between them. A family sat at a large table in the middle, closest to the fire, enjoying a meal of stew and cool ale. They were chatting animatedly about their unruly daughter who was to be wed to a butcher in another town, but she ran off and eloped with a troubadour. Their children ran about the table, bumping into the benches and causing the serving girl to flail as they nearly tripped her and caused her to drop her burden. A worn man, possibly a farmer, in the corner across from him eyed the girl’s back lecherously while a couple nearby helped the girl pick up the strewn plates and cups.

Near the door, he could hear a noble and a merchant talking of Yennefer of Vengerberg, Head Mage of the Lodge of Sorceresses, was now Hand to Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of the Northern Kingdoms. Apparently the sorceress had been talking of outlawing the open discrimination of all sentient magical beings, which included witchers, vampires, bruxa and the like.

Huh. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the vampire bit. He’d be happy for Geralt and the witchers of course, as well as everyone else affected. However, if vampires were suddenly allowed to coexist with humans, they’d be subject to human laws and values. That didn’t bother him personally as he’d already embraced those long ago. However, there are many of his brethren who would struggle with the idea…_exceedingly._

He pondered the idea for a while, and was still swishing it around, weighing the procs and cons when the topic swapped to Syanna Anna’s memorial service to be held the following month in Beauclair. His expression darkened perceptively upon hearing the name of the woman who had so ruined his best friend and brother. She’d loved him, manipulated him and used him, then broke his heart and sent him into a rage—a rage he would forever and bitterly regret.

And because of her…Because he had pushed Geralt into giving Dettlaff a chance, helped him see the truth—Geralt was in prison, and Dettlaff was gone with the wind.

Regis’s gaze shifted out into the gale once again and his chest tightened. He’d been searching for Dettlaff now for over a month and with only a residual innate feeling of what direction he needed to go. North. Dettlaff had gone North from Toussaint, his mind and heart in so much tumult that for the first day or so he hadn’t closed their bond.

He’d almost been debilitated by that. Geralt had been taken from him, stripped of his armor and marched into prison while Regis paced around the Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery wringing his hands. He’d kept only the slightest tether of the bond open then, just enough to feel Dettlaff and his location far in the distance and without becoming overwhelmed, but—he had to help Geralt! They would kill him for letting the Beast of Beauclair go!

It wasn’t until the bond between them suddenly snapped closed that he’d decided. He’d gathered his things and left. First however, he went to Novigrad, before anything. He needed Dandelions help—Geralt’s other longtime friend. If anyone could help with the flamboyant politicians of Toussaint, it would be Dandelion.

It didn’t take but a couple days trip to Novigrad and a few questions to find out that he had to go to The Chameleon to find the colorful bard.

Dandelion was surprised to see Regis, needless to say—having thought him dead for many years. Unfortunately, Regis had to skip past all the pleasant formalities Dandelion so loved to adhere to and explained that time was of the essence and the situation extreme. Geralt was in trouble. He needed Dandelions help—again.

The Bard was pleased beyond all recognition of course and immediately agreed to help, though only if Regis promised that they could catch up afterwards, all three of them. Quickly, they hatched a plan to stall Anna Henrietta’s punishment—whatever that may be—until Regis could return, or until Dandelion could convince her to let him go.

When they parted, Regis flew due west southwest towards the last place he’d felt Dettlaff at—an area around the mountains of Mahakam and forests of Caed Dhu. He’d searched the mountains and forests for weeks, only stopping but rarely to force himself to prey on deer or any other kind of game he could get his fangs into for energy he so desperately needed. Normally he’d abstain entirely, but since suffering through the Resonance trial in Teshum Mutna and because he was primarily using his mist and bestial forms, he _needed_ energy to keep going—much as he was loathe to admit it.

Finally, he’d exhausted all leads and started haunting the towns and villages, falling back on his skills as a barber surgeon to blend in. People would talk to him, come to him for aid with their ailments and he’d listen and he’d hope just maybe Dettlaff would slip up—maybe there would be a sighting.

Another couple weeks went by and nothing. Regis was losing hope—he was afraid that—

**_Hatred, anguish, longing _**and **_regret_** suddenly lashed out at Regis making him cry out in pain and surprise. He sloshed his mulled wine all over his hands and onto the table as his body jerked in reaction.

The sounds in the inn stuttered, then fell and he looked around with wide shocked eyes. People looked at him, worried and concerned. Regis lurched out of his seat as the inn keeper walked towards him.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Regis vaguely registered the inn keepers worn face—the concern, yet he could scent fear there.

“F-fine. I’m f—“

Regis was distracted, sending back _comfort, love_ and _desperate concern_ to his brother and best friend. The inn keeper made to comfort him, put a hand on his shoulder…

**_Hate_** and **_anguish_ **became his own and he lashed out, shoving the inn keeper to the side. Regis trembled as emotions began to overwhelm him and he struggled to maintain his composure, nearly doubling over.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry!” he finished and pushed past the inn keep, past the family and merchant and wide eyed politician.

His vision blurred when he reached the door and he threw it open and repeatedly sent out _comfort, love, desperation_, as he stumbled out into the blinding rain and searing wind. He doubled over as he hurried around the corner, away from prying eyes. His face was contorted in agony and fear.

** _Misery_ **

Dettlaff! Tears streamed down his cheeks and mixed with the pelting rain that soaked him through. He stared wide eyed, chest heaving and heart breaking for his brother as he felt the outcry of emotions coming through the bond.

** _Despair._ **

“DETTLAFF!” He shouted instinctively, though he knew it was useless. He straightened and drew his lip back, scenting, bond wide open and he closed his eyes. He could feel him, feel him nearer, closer than he’d been in a month…He could feel…he could feel the intention through the bond. The grief and depression, the need and longing to give up and give in to nothingness.

Regis let out an inhuman sound, a combination between screech and the most wretched sob and he misted up, whipping his way due North into the clouds. Faster and faster he needed to go--

** _Defeat. Failure._ **

No! He couldn’t. He wasn’t—he wasn’t a failure! Regis knew he had self-harm issues, and as recently as in Beauclair but this—He—the pain—_Pain, confusion, fear! _Don’t do it!

_“DETTLAFF!!!” _His ethereal shout reverberated through the clouds, against the thunder and lightning and wind. No Dettlaff don’t do it! Don’t!

_Misery, desperation, longing!_

Suddenly the bond slammed shut between them and sent him reeling against the wind and he lost himself, blinded by grief and sorrow.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lambert stirred, his head was still pounding, and he was stiff, but otherwise he felt better than he had in a while. He lay on something cushy and soft. Tentatively he took a deep breath and scrunched up his nose. Whatever he lay on tickled and smelt reminiscently of home, but more so of the earth and lichen of a pinewood forest. The warmth extended above him and down his length and he sighed as he stretched out on it. It was plush, thick fur—a winter pelt. He felt a soft purr rumbling through its chest which threatened to lull him back to sleep.

Smiling lazily, he nuzzled into it and cracked open his aching eyes. The furred creature trilled, wings shifting around him. Through the wings he caught a glimpse of fire flickering on the cavern wall nearby.

Wait…wings? His eyes widened as he realized—who and what the creature must be—then slowly started to remember. Being out in the snow—he was sodden, cold, broken—and that Dettlaff…He came back!—and that they had…Dettlaff had seen—oh gods. His heart fluttered in his chest and he felt himself redden.

The creature seemed to feel his tension and the purring stopped. Lambert hesitantly lifted his head and looked up past the soft, dark expanse under his nose. Swollen yellow eyes met with small, questioning blue ones and a soft muzzle that twitched and snuffled down at him.

“Detty…?” His voice was rough, a whisper and full of confusion. His bandaged hands curled as best as they were able into the fluff of the vampire bat’s chest.

The bat tilted its head and pointed its ears at him and chattered happily, making its chest rumble.

“You fucking came back,” he muttered, sounding surprised and relieved. Several different emotions flittered through him: warmth, happiness, confusion, embarrassment.

Hope.

Feeling his eyes begin to water again he hid his face back in the plush fur of the vampire bat’s chest. He shook slightly, trying to wrap his mind about what that meant for him—them. He’d told the vampire to go, even pushed him away—told him to leave, but he didn’t, refused to even….why?

_ “I am not leaving you.” Dettlaff’s voice was raw, a whisper as he held Lambert even tighter, his grip steel against his back._

_“Why!? You should! Every—everyone does, they always do! I…please…just let me…I…” he couldn’t get the words out. He wanted to die, to sink down into the cold and let darkness take him. _

_“No…I will not…” the vampire heaved against him and shuddered, “I cannot.”_

What did that even mean—

Lambert shuddered and curled his healing hands into fists, making the tight healing skin burn. He would not cry again, damn it! But still, tears fell from his eyes soaking the plush fur beneath him. It just felt so fresh right now…and now Dett…Dett refused to leave him alone. Just like Aiden had…He wasn’t letting Lambert push him away.

“Why?” He lifted his head up and asked Dettlaff, his cheeks streaked and eyes pained. “Why did you save me out there? Why did you fucking come back?!” His rough voice cracked, desperate for the truth.

The bat let out a low keen. “_I felt your pain as if it were my own. I—almost—we—”_ Dettlaff fell silent and let out a distressed trill instead and he felt the bats body shake beneath him in turn.

Lambert eyes widened at the lower harmonic voice of the bat and watched him struggle, obviously in pain too. He was shoddy at words. Yet biting out something harsh or sarcastic was second nature especially when someone was prodding him the wrong way. If he didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t. He’d clam up—push them away or tell them to fuck off.

Yet here he was, not wishing to push the vampire away but desperately wanting to know what was going through his batty mind!

Lambert sniffed, curling up against the bat and making soothing circles in its fur with his bandaged hand. “You’re back…that’s all that matters.”

The vampire hummed out a low chitter, seeming to calm. “_But it is a question that deserves an answer_,” Dettlaff repeated his statement from the previous day. The shaking stopped, and purring softly resumed.

Lambert laughed weakly into the silky, warm fur and sighed at the sensual feel of it. “Yes…and I want a fucking answer, I need one…but I’m not about to force it out of you.” He felt the purring intensify then which he guessed could be interpreted as gratitude? It was…nice. Relaxing. He wrapped his arms around Dettlaff and lost himself to it for a moment, just letting the sound soothe and calm his frazzled nerves and overburdened mind.

After several minutes, his breathing evened out again, and he’d nearly fallen back asleep he was so exhausted, but Dettlaff shifted so that Lambert was on his side, back to the fire. The wings wrapped around him and held him closer, enveloping him in their warmth.

“This is…awkward,” he muttered. He didn’t feel weirded out by it though. He felt safe, protected—He felt cared for and like he belonged, something he’d so desperately wanted for so long. He was content.

Dettlaff trilled and nuzzled at his head and Lambert shivered, laughing lightly.

“If you start molesting me I will kill you, bat,” his yellow cat eyes glowed in the darkness and he could see—almost feel the mirth in the blue ones above him.

“_As it were, I have the irresistible urge to mark you—“_

“MARK ME?! Like…on a tree marking?” Lambert squirmed and pushed back away from the bat, thoroughly creeped out but the wings held him in place.

“_No, not like humans do. It involves the scent glands in our cheeks. It’s like an irritating itch that I could scratch, which I don’t out of respect for you.”_

It was hard to tell how the reverberating voice felt through the harmonic layering, but that definitely sounded like it would be annoying.

“_I am going to change back before I can no longer resist.”_

“Wait—“However it was too late as no sooner had the bat said so, than he had actually done it, and Lambert who was in his birthday was suddenly laying entwined with a fully clothed Dettlaff.

“Fuck, you really need to stop doing this to me—“Lambert whined as the warmth quickly fled from the cocoon they had formed, leaving his backside feeling cool despite the fire. The light of the fire danced across the clothed form before him—he needed to get up. This was not a good position for him at the moment, not after everything else…

Resigning himself, he pushed at the chest in front of him and hoped to get away—to get dressed. He needed a drink—some time to regather his thoughts, hopefully maintain some semblance of dignity, if he had any left!

But the arms wound around him tighter now and he felt the warmth of Dettlaff’s breath in his hair. He felt the vampires face nuzzle into it, inhaling deeply then followed by a shudder. Lambert’s cheeks warmed and he blinked, wondering what that was about, truly.

“Are you…scenting me? Detty?” he downplayed it as a funny vampire quirk, but he was nervous by how nice it felt. The arms wound around him so protectively—it was exactly what he wanted, but it terrified him. He _really_ wanted to get dressed…

Dettlaff pulled away then and raised his chin up until their eyes met. A tired, drawn face with haunted blue eyes searched his own. Amber eyes flicked to the soft lips that he remembered were so warm and yielding, and he barely resisted the urge to claim them again. Lambert averted his gaze and put them out of his mind.

Despite his worry for Dettlaff’s dark expression, his saltiness got the better of him. “So what are you looking for then? If you’re hoping to find the secret to life or love in me you better look elsewhere Dettlaff. All I’m good for is snark and crude jokes…” …_you are nothing—worthless_, the small voice inside said again. Lambert’s expression was drawn when he got up, distracted. Dettlaff let him go.

Lambert scowled, the little voice inside bothering him as he went over to his clothing which was laid out by the fire _again. _He could feel eyes on him as he resumed the same process to get his clothing on as earlier, which was much more embarrassing now that he had an audience. He finally managed to get his braies on when a pale hand reached out to help him.

Lambert looked up at Dettlaff. There was a glimmer of pain and fear in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. His empathy swelled as he took the vampire’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Lambert asked voice full of concern, mostly without thinking, and then mentally kicked himself for prying. He looked into the fire and then awkwardly grabbed his trousers off the ground and shook them out.

“N—no. But I will figure things out.” Dettlaff’s voice sounded distracted. When Lambert looked back to him, the fear had gone from his icy eyes and had been replaced by something else.

“Things?” Lambert inquired tentatively. The vampire swallowed and grabbed the trousers, holding them out so he could get his legs into them.

“Yes…Things.”

“Like…?” He pulled the trousers up and fumbled with tying them and almost growled when Dettlaff smacked his hands away from the ties.

“Like what I’m going to do with a witcher who can’t even tie his own trousers.” The vampire’s voice sounded amused and he showed a little fang then when he grinned down at Lambert to tie the strings. They were close now, and the slight brush of the back of Dettlaff’s hands against his stomach sent a shock through him.

“Give me some time and I’ll be able to do a lot more than just the basics,” he insinuated with a sly grin as Dettlaff finished and he bent down to gather his linen shirt and black over shirt. He felt the eyes on his back again and purposefully ignored them as he stretched his linen shirt over his head and bandaged hands through the holes with some difficulty, followed by the black over shirt—definitely not going slower on purpose!

Lambert felt the presence behind him close in, and when he turned, Dettlaff’s hands were on his face and their foreheads were together, breath mingling. Lambert’s bandaged hands had come up between them instinctively and his eyes closed at the sudden touch—the intimacy. He felt an odd peace settle over him and he relaxed into it, mind blissfully blank. Warmth pulsated between them, and for a moment in time they stayed there, just existing.

“Is…” Suddenly the hands were gone and Dettlaff had pulled away, turning towards the front of the cavern.

Lambert’s heart was left floundering, and he searched for words. “V—Vampire thing?”

Dettlaff paused and Lambert could see his head dip towards the ground in the darkness.

“Yes…vampire thing.” Dettlaff’s voice sounded a bit lighter than it had been previously.

“Ah…okay well…” He trailed off and worried his lip. Dettlaff was leaving the cave again.

“I will be back, Lambert.”

He felt himself relax at that, almost visibly and smiled. “Well, if you’re going to go hunt, catch me a boar will you? I can out eat about anyone in the castle.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Stepping out into the bright day light, Dettlaff squinted and let his eyes adjust. The blizzard had finally broken, and sunlight shown through gaps in the clouds. The beams of light made the white landscape glitter and sparkle to the point where it was almost blinding. But it was pure…beautiful.

He felt his throat tighten and he closed his eyes to the bright world around him, reeling slightly. The sudden urge to hold Lambert had overwhelmed him and so he did. He pulled their foreheads together and sent _calm_ and _safe_ as if he were one of his pack. It was instinctual and probably due to the blood bond…yet…it made his heart ache and melt. He…he couldn’t blame the bond like Lambert blamed his witcher wiring. For some reason or another, Dettlaff had unknowingly started considering him a member of his pack when caring for him, and when he’d fed, the blood had solidified it. Apparently this was something he’d inherently wanted from the start, maybe even from the moment he set eyes on the hypothermic witcher and covered him in the bear skin, and he was now just realizing it.

Dettlaff’s expression was thoughtful as he reopened his eyes to the world. Lambert was back in the cave—he could feel him, a low hum now at the back of his mind—now that he’d gotten the tether under control. He could feel the witchers peaked emotions, and some low lying ones that may not be more apparent unless he opened the bond to its full extent. Right now he couldn’t feel much of anything from the witcher—which was good. That meant he was content.

With a tired groan, he transformed into his bestial bat form and launched off the ground, pumping his wings to get above the trees. Lambert had said he’d wanted a boar—he was pretty sure that was a joke, but the witcher still needed food. They’d be there for another day or two at the very least, and it would prove a good distraction, possibly give them something to converse over and ease the awkward tension they both were feeling.

Flying higher, he stared down at the ground and let out a loud reverberating chatter. Images rolled back to him of the ground below. Trees, rocks, bushes. A rabbit, a pack of wolves. His wings ached as he flew, muscles still strained from his accolades earlier that morning. Which reminded him…what he had done…

He let out a lengthy keen of sorrow as he remembered what he had done to Regis, his best friend. His Brother. Floundering, he landed softly in that same clearing he’d fallen into earlier.

_Safe, regret, comfort_ and _sorrow. _He keened and kneaded at the snow beneath his talons as he threw the bond open once again and waited.

** _RELIEF! PAIN! HURT!_ **

Dettlaff screeched as the pain Regis felt hit him, the anguish and fear. Regis knew about him—about his issues and tendencies. It wouldn’t have been hard for his Brother to piece things together....

_Remorse. Remorse. REMORSE…_

Dettlaff was sorry…so, incredibly sorry he put Regis through that.

** _Hurt, comfort, pain, love, gratitude._ **

Regis was hurt, but comforted and grateful that Dettlaff contacted him again after being shut out so suddenly that morning thinking the worst.

_Love. Safe. Conflicted-love. Confused._

Dettlaff is safe, but…he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, not with this witcher, or what he should do about it…

** _Love, comfort, conflicted-love-curious._ **

Dettlaff trilled and stretched out on the snow in the sun, exhausted and overwhelmed, he let it out. Everything. They were communicating through the bond his experiences over the last two days, having a discussion by linking feelings into single or interconnected feeling-words. In the event that words failed them, they’d focus on a feeling and force it through the bond until they understood

** _Longing, need, love._ **

Regis missed him, wanted to see him to make sure he was whole.

_Longing._

Dettlaff missed him too but…

_Patience. Regret-anguish. Confused-elation._ _Patience._

Dettlaff reluctantly closed the bond after telling Regis he must be patient. He regretted his actions dearly and was horrified by the pain he had caused, especially to the children of Beauclair. But he needed time to figure things out and come up with a plan. Lambert had to know what he was, what he’d done, and preferably before he found out from someone else.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

When Dettlaff had returned, Lambert had made himself a nest of sorts propped up against the wall closest to the fire. He sat atop the bear skin with the linen blanket draped about him as he sipped on the remainder of the wine. He’d finally gotten to that bowl of water too, and finished off the remaining portion of the swallow. Once his hands were well enough, he’d sit down and brew up a new batch.

Dettlaff looked tired, his expression concave as he trudged back into the cavern. He carried a large shank of what looked like venison in his hand, raw and trimmed, along with a handful of stakes in his other hand for placement of a spit over the fire.

Frowning, Lambert gestured to the portion of deer and tried to distract the bat from whatever was bothering him. “What happened to the rest of it? Ya eat it all? Damn!”

Unhearing, the vampire crouched by the fire and with the aid of some choice rocks nearby, propped the sticks and shank up over the flame and began seasoning it.

“No response eh?” What was bugging him?

The distracted vampire stirred and seemed to come back to himself, mostly. His eyes were still dark, and the haunted look from earlier had returned. “I gave the rest of the kill to a nearby pack of wolves, so that it would not go to waste.”

“Ha, either you’re an altruistic vampire, or you have a thing for wolves.” Lambert’s eyes glittered in the light, his voice suggestive and playful.

“I owned a toy shop in Beauclair,” the vampire admitted quietly as he settled more comfortably onto the ground so that he could rotate the shank every so often.

“Why? So you can lure in the kiddos? Young blood an’ all that?”

Dettlaff snapped his head to him looking horrified, “WHAT? No! I wouldn’t—No I loved children…Still do…” There was a longing in the vampire’s voice, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place.

Lambert lowered his eyes and fiddled with the bandages wrapping his hands, and small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Children held a special place in his hardened heart, especially those who came from fucked up families. “And you made them toys…? Just because?”

The vampire nodded and turned the spit. His handsome but weary face softened a bit as he seemed to recall fond memories. “I did it to make money, to help my friend and I, so that we would be able to blend in and live peacefully. Yet I’d do it because I wanted to as well. I loved to see their faces light up, especially when their parent’s couldn’t afford one. I’d give it to them anyway and the child would jump for joy and the parent’s would be so grateful.”

Lambert worried his lip, heart swelling. That was way too freaking adorable. And he was supposed to be a monster!?

“Once a year I would go to the local orphanage, during the Yuletide festival, and give all the children there something special. I’d ask them to write me, tell me what they wanted, and it would be as they wished...”

The vampire’s voice broke as he seemed to crumple in on himself and he shuddered, burying his face in his hands.

Lambert started and set his wine down as he saw the change come over the vampire. Dettlaff’s body shook as he sobbed, and Lambert was at his side instantly, pulling him close and trying to comfort him, though he wasn’t sure from what.

“…I…I—I did…” Dettlaff wailed, clutching at Lambert’s arms as he began rocking back and forth. Lambert held on as he fell to the ground next to him, drawing the vampire to his chest and rubbing soothing circles into his back. His eyes shown and began to blur as he was drawn into Dettlaff’s emotional torrent—his sorrow.

“They…I…it’s my—“The vampire let out a low and long keen that tore at Lambert’s heart. Tears began to flow from him as well and he wished he knew why.

“Shhhh it’s okay. It’s okay…” Lambert murmured into the vampire’s dark hair and hugged him close, rocking with him as he made soothing sounds of comfort.

“No…No its not! I—I—it’s my fault!!!” Dettlaff howled into his chest and he sobbed wretchedly, heaving.

Lambert knew he shouldn’t say anything but his curiosity got the better of him. “What’s your fault? What happened?” He ran his bandaged fingers through the vampire’s hair as he rocked him. Why would he be so traumatized…

“They’re gone!! Th—they’re all d-dead! And it—it’s my fault!” Hands wrapped around Lambert and gripped at the back of his shirt, tugging on it desperately, as if afraid—

“My…my brethren—they…they raised it! They killed them all!” The normally rolling, warm voice was hollow and broken sounding, small and fragile. Dettlaff trembled against him, sniffling between keens and wracking sobs. Lambert’s brow furrowed as he tried to process the information.

“How…how is it your fault? You can’t control them, they’re sentient, mostly.” Lambert pulled back slightly and looked down at the distraught vampire in his lap.

Dettlaff looked up at him, icy eyes red and swollen. His cheeks were tear stained and there was grief and something else in his eyes. “Th—they were mine. I—“

Lambert tensed, not entirely sure what that meant.

“…I was—I was in a rage…they—Rhea—Syanna she—I…” his face broke again and the vampire fell into him, clutching his shirt, shaking and keening uncontrollably.

“My…my Rhe—Syanna…She…The letters…I had to—“

Lambert didn’t understand a word that he was saying and his patience was wearing. But he tried not to show it—not after the patience the vampire had shown him.

“Detty…S’okay…just breathe…” Lambert pulled him close again and rested his chin atop the vampires head. He felt lost himself, confused—not sure what the hell the vampire meant when he said ‘they were mine’. Still he held the vampire, who seemed as lost and broken as he had been. They both obviously had their demons to deal with.

Lambert closed his aching eyes and held the vampire, shushing and making soothing sounds as they rocked together. Eventually, the wracking and sobbing subsided to trembling and sniffling, interrupted by the occasional shudder. Then, after several moments of quiet and a bit of nuzzling against his chest, he’d realized Dettlaff’s breathing had evened out, and that he’d passed out—fallen asleep in his lap.

Lambert let out a shaking sigh, and allowed the fondness and worry he’d been feeling to take him for a moment. He buried his face into the raven hair, tears still in his eyes as he was overcome with the concern he felt and the confusion at the vampire’s words. He had no idea what it meant—or what it may mean for them, but he had to be there for the vampire, just as the vampire was there for him.

He inhaled deeply and sighed—then his eyes widened in horror.

“Craaaaap,” he reluctantly turned his attention back to the shank on the spit and reached around to rotate it. The bottom was extra crispy, and starting to smoke! Great!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regis is here. Yay! I love writing him!  
Bat cuddles are the best cuddles. Detty shows amazing restraint about the marking which is important later. Same with the forehead pressing! Super cute!  
I just wanna put them both in a cry closet and let them have at it. Poor guys, they need a break and a good um...release. Yessss. Release. That doesn't involve angst...or maybe it can? Hee hee  
Plot thingy! Yennefer is in politics and is against discrimination against sentient beings, yay! Also, Syanna Anna's memorial. May write that in at some point. It'll be a while!
> 
> Posting this while on vacay. Enjoy!


	5. Some Questions are Answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis tracks down Dettlaff and butt's heads with Lambert. Questions are asked, answers are given and Dettlaff and Lambert come to a realization together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG CHAPTER IS LONG
> 
> Warning:  
Mentions of sucicide  
Bat fight and Angry bat noises lol  
Lil angst then super fluff

The morning since Dettlaff had contacted him so very abruptly—so painfully—and had snapped the bond shut again, Regis had been constantly on the move. He’d been flying north over swaths of forests and snow touched meadows, switching between his mist and bestial forms—and jogging to rebuild his energy when he could maintain neither. He slowed only now and then to prey upon a farmers heard or take some blood (not all) from a lone vagrant or traveler. He was _that_ desperate to get back to his brother. Regis was fueled by fear, anger and grief, but guided by hope. He had a new lead! He knew where Dettlaff was—generally speaking. His Brother had to still be alive—but in what sort of condition he did not know—probably the worst kind of condition, if what he sensed had been correct! So he needed the blood, needed the extra energy—just in case he had to give it over himself. So he was full to the brim.

What Dettlaff had done to him—the feeling had left him reeling, his heart wrenched in two at the mere thought of his blood brother rending himself asunder as a means of escape. Why?! Yes what he had gone through in Beauclair had been unfair, heartbreaking and absolutely hellish in all regard but…life was always worth living. Always!

Of course, that would make him a hypocrite. He’d had his moments as well, when he’d been torn asunder, body parts everywhere and buried deep into the earth. It took him over seventy years to recover and by the end of it, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to live.

It took the goading of a humanist vampire to give him the inspiration he needed—the will to live a life without blood, to learn from humans, embrace their culture—even become one of them in all things but essence. He’d embraced it. He learned, he _lived._

Dettlaff had to live. He had to…

Regis had been flying over the snowy forest coming up towards the Pontar River, just southwest of Leyda when it happened again.

The bond opened, and Regis was flooded with **_safe, regret, comfort _**and **_sorrow._**

He’d about fallen out of the sky in relief! Regis landed quite clumsily as happiness and grief washed over him when he felt Dettlaff’s bond open up to him once more. He’d keened and sobbed, sending back his own torrent through the bond, and they’d conversed in that special way they did. Melitele he was going to kill Dettlaff when he saw him—that petulant young vampire!

Regis sat on an icy snow covered rock and wiped the tears from his eyes. Dettlaff had sent him ‘_conflicted-love’_, ‘_confused’_ and then finally ‘_confused-elation’._ It seemed that there was person influencing him, tugging at his heart strings, confusing him and making him feel happiness during his darkest hour. Hmm…perhaps, or maybe that person was actually the _cause_ of his Brother’s spiral into darkness—well if so, they would have more than words.

Regis had honed in on his location then, as he felt his presence more strongly than ever. North. Not much further. By Liksela River, possibly near Ban Ard? North North East?

He’d shifted into his bestial form and launched himself from the ground. Regis screeched, feeling elation and sending _longing, need, love_ over their bond. Dettlaff told him to be patient, not to worry, and the bond closed shut. But it was too late, he was sure he knew where he was.

Regis flew the rest of the morning and into late afternoon, alternating between his forms. When he passed the Liksela River, he was bestial again, using his keen sense of smell and sensitive hearing to help pin point his Brother’s location.

He could smell Dettlaff by now. On the trees, some of which he’d crashed into, wings ripping through the branches. Regis appraised these and keened lowly at the indentation in the snow where Dettlaff had lain. He found the clearing as well, where the snow had piled up around a deep hole—apparently where he’d struck the ground. And nearby, an almost tired, lazy impression as something large relaxed in the sun.

Regis chattered and trilled—elation, the scents and excitement of the hunt, of his Brother—for he was hunting his Brother, after all.

He coiled his muscles and launched himself into the air again. His wings strained and he panted heavily, his muzzle was dried out and cracking in the cool air. He was exhausted—mentally and physically, but he was close. Dettlaff had to be nearby…somewhere…

Letting out a chattering screech, he honed in. A distorted image only he and his brethren could understand filled his mind. A wolf pack tearing at a kill—a large dear, nearby. An upwelling of snow and earth—a hill? An indentation—

A cave!

He sped forward, heart pumping in excitement and happiness and wings beating against the air as he closed in on his Brother in blood.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lambert sat back against the wall, gazing into the fire as he took a sip of the white gull. Heat flooded through him, and his cheeks tinged pink. Dettlaff lay next to him, who he’d situated atop the bear skin and covered with the linen blanket. Every so often Lambert would chance a glance at the sleeping vampire, his face soft and relaxed. The lips that he remembered being so pliant were parted, warm breath catching the hair in front of his face, stirring it slightly.

He took a bandaged finger and gently moved the black locks behind his ear.

It struck him then, how vulnerable Dettlaff was, and how much the vampire must have trusted Lambert to see him in such a weakened state…

Gods…

Lambert tore his gaze away and tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The warmth he felt made his heart ache, but it was tinged with anxiety that caught in his throat, making him want to choke and sob in confusion and fear—Why?! What the fuck was he doing…? Why this man…this…kind, caring, toy making vampire who seemed to have as many issues as he did, end up being…end up being…so special?

He…wasn’t sure…maybe it was his empathy? Maybe it was because they both suffered and found comfort in one another? But there was so much he didn’t know, and needed to find out. There were so many unanswered questions that ‘deserved an answer’ but none were forthcoming, and it was driving him insane.

Lambert took another sip of white gull and opened his eyes. They burned, and they were glossed over by his train of thought. He really needed to get a hold of himself. He’d’ not lost it this badly since…since Aiden was killed. Every time he thought about the man, his chest burned, his throat started to ache. And now the same happened at the mere thought of being without the damned vampire sleeping beside him.

The sudden shift of rock on slate drew his keen hearing and his cat eyes eyes shot past the fire. There was a bat creeping in the shadows, coming closer. Large and black with silver streaks and red beady eyes—both ears were trained on him.

Adrenaline keying up immediately, he threw his white gull at the beast and launched for his silver by the fire. He awkwardly unsheathed it and steadied it with both bandaged hands as he put himself between the huge bat and Dettlaff in one smooth motion. His cat eyes glowed, his witcher senses keyed up as he took on a defensive posture. Dettlaff lay still behind him, blissfully unaware and snoring softly.

The bats hackles raised and it chattered—then sprung at him.

Lambert brought his silver up across his body and blocked as talons raked towards him and he pushed. Jaws snapped at his face, and wings buffered his body. He braced himself and took a step back, straddling Dettlaff’s legs as the vampire just kept fucking sleeping.

“What—the—fuck!” His eyes glowed with a pulse of energy and he shoved, pushing the bat back towards the fire. He followed through with a charge and launched at the bat with his silver in both hands. The bat dodged to the side easily and shrieked at him so loudly that it made his ears ring.

“Fucking vampire!! Leave us alone!” He roared at the bat and swiped at it awkwardly with his silver. These fucking bandages would be the death of him at this rate!

“What do you—“the bat lunged again and jumped, this time making him fall back with a gasp. His head hit rock and he saw stars, his vision blurring and head pounding—but his arms worked still, he pushed back, blocking, then he pulled his knees up to his chest and kicked.

The bat went sprawling backwards towards the fire and Lambert shot up. His hands and feet screamed in protest and the back of his head seared. Lambert roared at the bat, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!”

The vampire screeched and paced back and forth, its claws tearing at the ground and coat puffed up.

“_Give me my Brother!”_ The bat spoke with a higher multilayered harmonic than Dettlaff did.

“You can fuck right off with that shit!” Lambert tore at the vampire again—his heart rate pulsed wildly with his witcher wiring—he’d almost missed a key word—Brother. He hesitated mid-step and the vampire took the chance and tripped him up, pinning him to the ground with his body and wings.

“_He is mine brother in blood. He is my pack.”_ The vampires lip pulled up and its fangs snapped too close to his face.

“Yeah well you got fucking competition buddy! Get’off me!” He said without thinking as he struggled to bring his knees up this time but the vampire had settled his full weight on him. He couldn’t move!

The vampire seemed to notice something then, and tilted its head to the side—the same fucking mannerism Dettlaff so commonly used.

“_His scent is all over you.”_ The vampire’s expression turned to that of curiosity as its nose started twitching and snuffling repeatedly.

What?

A muzzle was suddenly buried in his neck, then chest—and then in all other areas he didn’t fucking want it!

“Fuck you both and your scent marking shit!” He cursed and spat, struggling to get away but the wings held him down.

That seemed to startle it as well. The bat pulled up and eyed him, head cocked again. “_He tried to mark you_?” The bat sounded surprised.

“Ye—no. He wanted to! But he didn’t! Now let me up asshole!”

To his complete surprise, the vampire bat listened and backed off. Lambert sat up slowly, and gingerly rubbed the back of his head. When he pulled the bandage away there was blood all over it and he scowled.

“Fucking A—I guess Dettlaff is the exception! I was starting to think you higher vampires might be okay!” Lambert seethed at the intruder as he pulled himself from the ground, sword still in hand.

“_Yes…well. I do offer my sincerest apologies for this_,” the bat started grooming itself and let out a low keen, “_sometimes when a member of our pack seems to be in danger we—can become agitated._”

“Agitated…right.” He limped back over to where Dettlaff was and sat down right next to him. He glared at the sleeping vampire and resisted the urge to kick him. “Thanks for the help, asshole…” High strung as he was though, he softened when the vampire curled and nuzzled into the fur and blanket. Endearing fucking asshole, is what he was. Damn it.

Lambert laid his silver in his lap and let out an exasperated huff as he tore his eyes away from Dettlaff. “So what do you want, bat? Now that you got me all fucking wound up, you better have a good reason for being here!”

“No longer a bat actually,” a soft gentlemanly voice spoke from near the fire. “Dear me, I am terribly sorry about the mess.”

Lambert followed the vampires gaze. “Yeah…that was my only bottle of white gull. Dettlaff got it for me. Thanks bunches.” He scowled at the broken glass, then turned his glowing amber eyes on the vampire.

He was lean, wearing a black gambeson over a brown tunic with black pants and boots. His hair was wispy and black, with silver streaks and a high receding hair line similar to his own. The vampire looked incredibly tired, his face lined and worn with high cheek bones and deep black eyes. Across his tunic he wore a leather satchel, which he fingered almost anxiously.

The vampire seemed to come to himself then and approached him tentatively. “Forgive me, I am Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.” The vampire held out his hand, which Lambert ignored haughtily.

“What the fuck is with you guys and your long ass names?” Lambert glared up at him, still not feeling the homeliness this guy threw his way. His head fucking hurt, he’d banged his knee up and his hands and feet were aching again. Yay.

The vampire awkwardly withdrew his proffered hand. “You may call me Regis, for short.”

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. Why are you here?!"

Regis pursed his thin lips and switched his gaze over to the sleeping vampire. “He…I wanted to make sure he was alright,” the vampire said, simply, though Lambert felt there was quite a bit more to it than that.

“Okay. He’s fine. You may go now.”

Regis regarded him, his black eyes dark and expression pensive. “You care for him, don’t you?” The vampire came a bit closer and crouched in front of him, head slightly tilted.

Lambert’s eyes narrowed and he deflected. “No, it’s not about that. He saved me, I was returning the favor.”

“Yes, well, if that’s the case, then why in the heat of the battle did you deem it worthy to inform me that I had…what was it…’competition’?” The vampire waited almost smugly, having hit the nail on the head.

Fucking vampires.

Lambert regarded him wearily, considering. They were Brother’s? Dettlaff was out cold and he obviously had issues. Regis ‘his Brother’ was here, and was obviously worried—possibly about said issues. Could be that he might have an opportunity to get some of those troublesome unanswered questions resolved…

The vampire seemed to be weighing his options as well, and came to a similar conclusion faster. “Allow me to stay for a while, take a look at your wounds and I will answer any question you may have that I am able. I am a barber surgeon, and—you said Dettlaff helped you with these?” The vampire Regis gestured to his feet and hands.

Lambert nodded. “I had hypothermia and frostbite. He found me. He used his venom to dull the pain and saliva to heal my wounds.” He left it right there, vampire to vampire, he was sure he got the implications. Yay again. He hated being read like a book!

The older vampire made no comments about Dettlaff’s methods and instead pulled a bag off his back and started rummaging around in it. “Please, appraise me of the situation while I recover the tools I need.”

“Ap—appraise you of the situation? Meaning, Dettlaff? My wounds—this...whole fantastically fucked up mess we’re in? Be specific.” The impatience in his voice was very clear. He was irritable and quite honestly just wanted to sleep and not wake up for two days.

“Tell me everything you think I need to know, preferably from the beginning.” The vampire said patiently as he pulled out some sheers, bandages and a jar of something which he set aside atop a white cloth. He also pulled out a second white cloth that he thrust into Lambert’s hands. “Hold that against the wound on your head.”

“Okay…” He did what he was told, but his eyes followed the vampire’s movements as he started explaining the situation—short version-ish.

“My horse fell into the river. I lost my pack, my horse bolted. I had nothing but what was on me. I came in here, barely managed to start a fire and Dettlaff appeared with his ‘humans are fragile’ bullshit and warmed me up.”

Regis smiled as he set up his ingredients for potions. The vampire practically glowed. “Nice to see he’s finally starting to take after me.”

“You?”

Regis waved an impatient hand. “I’m a humanist vampire, but please do continue. Don’t mind me.”

Humanist? So he likes people and learns from them? Hence being a barber surgeon? Hmmm that’s kind of unbelievable…”Anyway. I got frostbite pretty bad, he managed to get some swallow and bandages and a little food. I don’t know exactly what he did to my feet but they looked pretty bad. I think I might have lost a few toes.”

Dark black eyes looked up at him sharply, “No! He didn’t!”

“I dunno, I was…out of sorts at the time.” They’d done the vampire humpty hump sorta and down the rabbit hole he went…

“We will do that foot first. Which was it?”

Lambert hesitantly settled back against the wall and offered the vampire his left foot.

“How long since this has been wrapped?” The vampire settled next to it and prodded it gently, then grabbed the shears.

“About a day, give or take a few hours. We had soaked some bandages in superior swallow, which I think he wound around the top, then bandaged with dry clean ones over it.”

“Well they don’t look clean anymore. I will assess the wound and redo them.”

“Well, we were outside for a time.” For reasons he would not address unless pressed…

“I see.” The vampire took the shears and carefully cut through the bandage, revealing lighter skin beneath. Lambert bit his lip as the whole sleeve came off, revealing his foot.

He’d closed his eyes not wanting to look at it.

“Witcher.” Soft fingers ran along the top side of his foot and he jerked at the sensitivity.

“Open your eyes, young wolf.” Two fingers gently pinched toes that probably shouldn’t have been there and his eyes snapped open.

His foot looked mostly normal, aside from being a bit too pink around the toes—the three toes were still there! They were very pink, and the littlest odd looking without its nail, but it was there!

“Does this hurt at all? Can you feel any numbness?” The vampire gently massaged the toes, steadily applying pressure.

Lambert shook his head sharply, “n-no, they feel fine.” His voice was a bit strained with emotion—relief. They didn’t hurt, or feel numb, just a little overtly sensitive.

“Seems he did a fine job caring for you.” Regis reached for some bandages—

“No—no more bandages. It’s fine. I want to leave in the morning.”

“Your feet are still very sensitive to cold and abrasive fabrics—you may want to wrap it, at least a little, to prevent any rubbing.” Regis ignored him and snipped off a strip of bandage from the length with his sharp nails. Then he grabbed the jar and twisted the cap off revealing pale green salve. “This is my personal creation. It’s a pain killing salve that stimulates cell regeneration and will help you heal faster.”

Lambert worried his lip as the vampire applied a small amount to his fingers and rubbed a thick layer of it into the sensitive areas of his foot and toes. It tickled at first but there was an immediate cooling sensation and the dull throbbing from the fight went away. The question he’d so easily asked Dettlaff when they first met sprang to mind again. “Why are you being so nice?”

The vampire looked up at him, his expression soft and voice softer. “If my Brother trusts you, a witcher, well enough to sleep in your presence totally unguarded—then I believe it is safe to assume you’re someone worth helping.”

Lambert said nothing at the vampire resumed what he was doing. That was basically the same conclusion he’d come to, though put quite a bit more elegantly.

“So what happened after he cared for your frostbite?” Regis asked, breaking the silence as he put a thin wrap around his foot, mostly covering the top and toes and anchoring behind his ankle. Once he was satisfied, he took up the shears and started the process again on his right foot.

“Well…I woke up—he’d taken off. He said he’d help me, didn’t say he’d stay afterwards.” He carefully held his voice steady, and was proud that it didn’t waver or break.

“And now he’s back?”

Lambert gave him a look—like no shit. He’s back. “Apparently—he must’ve gone out to hunt or something. I’m not his fucking caretaker.”

Regis paused and looked at him pointedly. “Have you noticed anything about him? I will be blunt, Witcher. He is unstable. He’s prone to…” The vampire Regis struggled for the words for a moment. “…dark outbursts?..Self harm? He has gone through so much the last few years. I do worry.”

“Who is Syanna?” Lambert blurted without thinking, the name having nagged at him since Dettlaff had sobbed it out.

The vampire’s eyes widened. “How do you know that name? Did he tell you?”

“No, I have no fucking clue who she is. Before—before you got here, he—“ Lambert looked down at Dettlaff, still snoring softly into the bear skin. The tears that had been on his cheeks had left tracks, barely visible in the low light.

Lambert’s voice softened, “I had mentioned to him, kind of as a joke because that’s what I do, that he’s an altruistic vampire. He brought up his toy shop in Beauclair…started telling me about it. When he mentioned the orphanage he just…he—“

His eyes blurred and the fire broke up into a hundred images. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting to fucking cry in front of yet another stranger he barely knew.

“I see,” the vampire sounded solemn.

Lambert blinked his eyes clear and refocused on Regis, who was now looking at Dettlaff with a tender, worried expression.

“What do you know of current events these last several months, dear Witcher?” Regis looked to him then, his voice somber.

“Not too much. I was with someone that wanted to go back to Toussaint, and I didn’t, so I headed for Kaer Morhen. I don’t prefer the company of people so I don’t really pay attention—unless I’m looking for work.”

“Okay. I will tell you all that I know, some of which he doesn’t even know. Please bear with me, for the tale is long and details many. I do hope he forgives me for telling you this, but alas it is necessary it seems, and in the end, I feel you will empathize with him more deeply than you do now.” Regis went back to work on his right foot as he spoke.

Fan-fucking-tastic! Time to have some questions answered! Though…he wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared…

“As I said, Dettlaff, my dear brother, is prone to fits of darkness. He is not one to rage, per say, but more the type to quietly brood and recuse himself from the world. He normally stems the urge to do this by making toys, drawing or painting pictures. The joy the children bring him is insurmountable to imagine. A few years ago, something terrible happened to me that I will not get into at this time. But he found me, he healed me over a number of years and made me whole again. During this time, he met a young woman, named Rhenawedd, who he called Rhena. From what I understand, she immediately understood and accepted him for what he was, and he fell head over heels in love with her for it.”

Regis paused as he applied the salve to his right foot and bandaged it, then sidled up next to him to work on his hands. “He and Rhena were together for a period of several months before he decided he wanted to be bound to her. One night he went out under the guise of a hunt to buy her a ring—see, he had studied human courtship, once again learning to become a humanist!”

“Bound?” Jealousy flared up inside him, but he quickly squashed it. They were talking about a past hook up—so who cares right? Not like he had any claim…yet…

“Yet another conversation for later,” Regis commented offhandedly. He’d finished unwrapping his right hand which looked startlingly normal, aside from a slight change of skin color at the old-to-new-skin boundary. Lambert flexed it experimentally. It didn’t feel tight like it had…just sensitive, like his feet.

“When he returned from the ruse, our house had been upended, Rhena was nowhere to be found. He ended up tracking her scent to a lake nearby where it abruptly ended, and he was at a loss.”

“That’s fucked up—to care for someone so openly only for them to bail on and reject you…” He knew exactly how that felt…

“Not necessarily. It looked that way yes, but from what we gathered it seemed like she had been kidnapped.” Regis took more of the salve and started massaging it into his hand. Up close now he could smell Regis—some sort of earthy, musty scent, and the medicine.

Ah. He jumped the bomb on that one. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he stole his hand back from the barber surgeon and inhaled the scent from his hand. “Green mold, ribleaf, white myrtle petals, mint and….What’s the last one?” Lambert glanced at the old vampire questioningly, who looked at him with approval.

“Very good…the last ingredient is a personal favorite of mine---cannabis oil. It helps with pain and can potentially help settle your nerves depending how you use it.” The vampire smiled slyly and went to grab the bandages.

“No bandages!” Lambert was firm this time. He wanted to be able to use his swords and signs, he felt too vulnerable without them!

The vampire gave him a weary look, and waited for Lambert to give him his hand. He tossed the bloodied rag he’d been holding against his head to the side and did so. The bleeding seemed to have stopped finally. “As I was saying, the house had been upended. Rhena was nowhere to be found—she disappeared. So he focused all his energy and efforts on healing me to which he succeeded, mostly, as you can see. Another year or so passed and our paths diverted temporarily, until we both ended up making our way to Toussaint. While he was there, he was waiting in line at a boot block to have his boots shined and someone rudely cut in front of him. Another customer, Louise de la Croix shined the rude person on, and he and Dettlaff became friends. At one point, someone slipped a note to him at the boot block he frequented so often and he learned of his beloved Rhenawedd, and how she’d been abducted and hidden somewhere in Toussaint. So he moved into an abandoned Rocking horse shop and set up operations in order to try and find her.”

Lambert was hanging on to every word, intrigued by what had happened to Regis to disable him so and also that after all that time and obvious rejection—Dettlaff was still hanging on for Rhena…

“According to what I’ve learned, someone started black mailing Dettlaff into killing innocents, otherwise harm would come to her. One of those he had to kill was his friend Louise. Omitting the gory details—he did so, however that is where we came to learn of his self-harm tendencies as he had amputated the hand that did the deed immediately afterwards.” Regis had finished massaging the salve into his hand and grabbed his attention.

That…explains a bit. Lambert hasn’t witnessed any self-harm himself but it would explain Dettlaff’s emotional up and downswings. The vampire was kind and so much more compassionate than he’d have pegged any vampire for…To have black mailed into killing a friend you made in order to save someone who abandoned you? For the first time, he couldn’t have imagined the pain and confliction Dettlaff must have been in…

“I need you to turn around so your head is to the firelight, I need to see what kind of damage I did. Again, I do apologize.”

“Yeah whatever old man,” Lambert turned and ignored the thin lipped scowl the vampire gave him. With his back to the fire, he took the opportunity to relax his face, let his guard down while the vampire Regis couldn’t see him clearly. He was tired, mentally and physically, and looking down at Dettlaff, watching how peacefully he slept wasn’t helping. It was hard to believe the vampire had gone through so much in so little time. And Regis hadn’t even finished!

He winced as the vampire applied a little more pressure than necessary when checking the wound. “So then what happened? Did he find who was black mailing him?” Lambert closed his eyes as the vampire massaged the salve into the wound and about sighed in relief when the throbbing went away.

“Yes…and it wasn’t at all who he was expecting. You may turn back around now.” He did, and Regis had turned to his tools and started braising them in the fire and putting them away. “By the time he’d killed three supposed innocents, he’d attracted the attention of the Duchess, Anna Henrietta. She hired a witcher to kill this ‘Beast of Beauclair’—the Witcher being one I assume you may know of, Sir Geralt of Rivia.”

Lambert nodded and absentmindedly massaged his hands. “Geralt is as close as I got to a best friend. We clash sometimes but…” Normally it was in good fun.

“Geralt can be rather stubborn at times, but he has a good heart.” Regis commented tiredly. Lambert watched as the vampire started pulling various herbs and ingredients out of his bags and silently agreed.

“Geralt tracked Dettlaff to the annual Hunt of the Hare event, where he caught him in the act of killing his third victim. Geralt tailed him, following him to a warehouse where they fought. That’s where I made my presence known to Geralt—who until then believed I was dead.”

“Wait, so you two have a history?” Lamberts brow quirked up curiously.

“You could say that, but alas a story for another time.”

Lambert couldn’t get a look at the vampire’s face, so shrugged it off for the moment. He was curious but it wasn’t really any of his business.

“I prevented Dettlaff from killing Geralt, and together we figured out who was truly behind the black mailing. By the time Dettlaff had his fifth contract, we had managed to track the black mailer to Dun Tynne where we assumed was where Rhena was. Geralt and I followed Dettlaff into the compound and on the second floor, we found her. Rhena, but the black mailer was nowhere to be seen, and that’s where it all started to click.”

“No fucking way.” Lambert’s heart dropped. He knew it—she abandoned him!

“Yes. As you have obviously guessed, Rhena was the black mailer, and Rhena was not her real name. Her real name is Syanna Anna. Anna Henrietta’s estranged sister.”

Lambert shifted and stared down at Dettlaff whose brows had started to furrow in his sleep. He reached down and smoothed his hand over the vampire’s forehead and through his hair gently, and the furrow relaxed.

“That’s not the worst of it.”

Lambert’s head snapped back around, “…the Orphanage?!” Oh gods.

“Dettlaff is what we call a Sheppard. It’s a very very rare trait vampires may be born with. He has a flock—a massive warren of lesser vampire he can influence. In his grief and rage, he influenced their minds, told them to raise Beauclair. But…He did give them strict orders to leave families alone, to not touch children, to which they did not abide.”

The remaining color drained out of his face as the vampire Regis watched him. “Gods…that’s why…earlier he had such a massive break down I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you see now. He thinks he’s a monster, witcher, he’s prone to darkness, deep and utter depression. The other night—he—“

This time it was Regis who wavered and his hand came up to latch onto his satchel wearily. His whole body trembled as he spoke.

“He—tried to kill himself. A higher vampire cannot. It is impossible, he knows this. But he still tried!!”

Something inside him constricted painfully. “How—how do you know this?”

Regis shakily grabbed a bowl from his sack and stood. “We are blood bound. When the bond is open, I feel his peaked emotions whether he wants me to or not. But when he wills it, when I will it, we can communicate. He…he forcefully communicated his pain to me, his grief, as he was about to strike himself down!” There were tears in the old vampire’s dark eyes, “so here I am.” He sounded broken, but also relieved.

“But what stopped him then? How is he here now?” There was pain in Lambert’s eyes. He had a feeling he knew the answer.

“That, I do not have an answer for, young wolf. Please excuse me, I need to collect snow.” The older vampire quickly turned and left the cave, leaving him to his thoughts.

Lambert pulled the blanket up around the vampire further, then smoothed it down his side as he thought on the events of the past day. Dettlaff had disappeared on him after caring for his frostbite, during which Lambert could vaguely remember the vampire crying against him, and tears on his skin, and then a screech as the vampire fled. Then he returned in the midst his own chaotic emotional breakdown in the snow. They’d clung to each other, cried together, and came together with more passion and emotion than he thought was possible and with the promise that he wouldn’t leave, he was safe, and would be protected. And right in the nick of time too—if Dettlaff had succeeded in killing himself, Lambert might be dead as well, frozen into a block of ice. Since then, he’d acted rather peculiarly. The wanting to mark him, the scenting and forehead thing that he still didn’t understand…

He heard Regis return then, and since the older vampire was full of so much information, he just had to ask.

“So, random question. Marking, scenting and the forehead pressing and all that—what the hell does it mean?” Lambert looked up to the vampire who had placed the bowl of snow in the glowing coals.

“Excuse me?” Regis collapsed next to him as he waited for the snow to melt. The look on his face begged he repeat the question—like he couldn’t believe what he was being asked.

“Marking, scenting and that forehead press thing? He said it was a vampire thing—what drives it?”

Regis’s eyes widened. “You…” the vampire looked away. He seemed to be warring with himself.

“That…is not something for me to disclose to you, young wolf. Just know that he is very fond of you, and leave it at that.”

So, it does mean something pretty serious eh? Okay…Well there’s that answer—kind of.

“Names Lambert, by the way.” Yellow eyes locked onto black and softened perceptively. “Thank you for all this—and I’m sorry if I hurt you at all earlier.”

Regis grinned at him then, showing fang and let out a rolling light hearted chuckle, eerily similar to Dettlaff’s but not. “You wouldn’t be able to hurt me young wolf, not in your dreams.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

_“And then, when I beat them both, I made them wear Yen and Triss’s undergarments!” _A warm voice exclaimed from somewhere near his warm cocoon.

“_Ah I would have loved to see that. I see Geralt got the idea from you because one time he beat Zoltan at a game of Gwent and he made him dress up like Dandelion!”_

Dettlaff’s brow furrowed as he attempted to block out the voices. They were loud to his sensitive ears.

_“Yeah, he’s a fun drinking and Gwent pal…don’t ever give him pepper vodka mixed with white gull!”_

_“Why?”_

_“Heehee…That’s for me to know and for you to find out—if you dare.”_

Geralt…? The white haired witcher who’d spared him? Didn’t seem so much like the sort _he_ would like to hang around—at least from his perspective…

_“The last time I saw Geralt well and truly drunk was on my mandrake moonshine before we confronted Vigilfortz. We’d ended up falling into bed together, soused beyond belief. Nothing happened of course—though even if something had, I doubt we would have remembered.” _The voice sounded awfully fond—familiar.

Dettlaff curled his body slightly and nuzzled into the furs. He was stiff and his head pounded as if he were blood drunk on a fisstech junkie. There blanket around him and fur underneath him was warmth though. He was so loathe to wake…

_“Geralt…he has the best timing. One night he walked in on me raising hell at a tavern in Oxenfurt—I was about to lay into some dirt bag ‘Father’ who was talking about his wife and kid like they were vermin—saying how he had to beat’m to keep them on their toes—Geralt showed up and Axii’d the mother fucker, told him to go home’an really take care of his family, or let them go find happiness elsewhere.” _Dettlaff felt a soft hand sift through his hair soothingly and his expression smoothed out.

_“Yes, Geralt does have a knack for showing up when one needs him the most, especially for those he cares about.”_

_“That he does. He was there for me when I woke up from the Trial of the Grasses. He was so afraid for me—didn’t think I’d make it. But I proved him wrong! I didn’t even scream during it—that’s why my voice is so soft and there’s are all gravelly.”_ The warm hand stopped its soothing motion, but didn’t pull away. Dettlaff felt himself relax even further into it, content.

_“When Geralt showed up and fought Dettlaff, I was torn in two. To protect my best friend, or to protect my Brother—what do you choose? So I stood there and allowed my Brother to impale me. I guess it was my time to return the gesture and save Geralt’s life for once._

Ah, so it was his Brother. He had vaguely sensed something amiss earlier while sleeping, but it didn’t trigger any red flags, so his body kept him shut down. Must have been his Brother and the witcher making introductions. Ha…he was sure that went over _spectacularly. _He hesitantly cracked open the bond a smidge and sent _affection_ to his Brother.

“Ahh…I see you’ve finally returned to the world of the living, dearest friend.” The older voice was directed at him now. Reluctantly, Dettlaff cracked open an eye and was met with soft amber staring down at him.

“Next time you decide to invite your pal’s over to the cave lemme know next time eh? Little warning you know? Before a fight breaks out?” Lambert’s soft voice chided in a teasing way, but still he forced himself awake further.

His eyes widened, but he could feel mirth coming from Lambert. “Neither of you were hurt were you?” Dettlaff grimaced as he raised his stiff body up on its elbows. He was disheveled, and worried blue eyes flickered between the witcher and older vampire.

“Yes—we had a short spat, but we got it worked out.” Regis came to him from the side opposite of the witcher and lay a warm hand on his shoulder. A forehead found itself in his nest of untidy black hair and he closed his eyes again, opening the bond wider. He accepted Regis’s _love _and _happiness_ eagerly. “I am alive, my friend,” Dettlaff mumbled assuredly, though his voice was pained and apologetic.

“And thank Melitele for that.” Regis pulled away and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “And so you shall stay. Rest now.” The older vampire pulled away and went back to whatever he was doing with a new spring in his step.

“You could’ve picked a more out-of-the-way cave to tuck yourself into, Dettlaff,” Regis groused from over by the fire.

“Yes…well…You know I meant to go to ground!” Dettlaff grumped and lay back down into the nest-bed-thing Lambert had quickly thrown together for him when he’d passed out, not quite entirely ready to rise yet. The fur still had the witcher’s musty wet-from-the-river scent which he was becoming rather fond of by this point.

“Go to ground? What’s that even mean?” The witcher had taken his hand away and Dettlaff scowled into the linen blanket. Shifting around a bit, he decided he wasn’t comfortable until his forehead was right up against Lambert’s leg, leeching its warmth. Letting out a huff, he settled when he was finally satisfied.

The hand found its way into his hair shortly after as Regis explained the turn of phrase for him.

“It’s what we vampires do when we need to heal, either mentally or physically—it allows us to…find ourselves, as it were, while our bodies and mind heal. We may go to ground for a few months, or even for several years or longer. It depends on the vampire and situation.”

“Mhm,” Dettlaff closed his eyes to the dim firelight and murmured in agreement. Lambert started to gently massage his scalp and he melted into it, slowly drifting off.

“Huh. I guess maybe that could be similar to what we witchers do in the winter—heading back to Kaer Morhen to recoup.”

“Is that so?” Regis sounded far away now as he busied himself away by the fire—sounded like he was parsing…herbs?...

“Yeah. We all add to the pot we saved throughout the year, then the Wolf school leader uses it to buy supplies to get us through the winter. It gives us _time_ _to catch up and help repair the keep—“_

As his breathing deepened and he started dozing off again, their voices began to fade in and out.

_ “…we’re too few to get much done, so we have to prioritize, and it seems like we’re just barely managing to hold it together—can’t even really fix anything…”_

_ “…maybe if Yennefer can implement the policies she’s pushing for…_

_ …move up from monetary rewards for completed contracts…_

_ …requesting the services of others?”_

_ “…there’s an idea…”_

_ “….wait did you say Yennefer?!”_

_ “…yes, she’s—“_

Finally the voices fell away to low background noise and darkness finally claimed him, and it wasn’t until sometime later when a body shifted and cool air sucked away the warm that he stirred himself awake. Lambert had gotten up—gone off somewhere, leaving him alone with Regis.

Groggily, he blinked himself awake a few times and groaned when he finally pulled himself off the hard ground and into a sitting position. Regis was still by the fire, a row of vials and a couple jars of salves sat in an orderly row nearby. “How long was I out?” he asked as he rubbed his aching eyes.

“Initially? About five or six hours. Then you fell back asleep. So about nine or ten now.” Regis paused what he was doing and came over and settled next to him. Shadows danced across his face as the fire flickered in front of them making the older vampire look nearly dead on his feet. “How are you feeling?”

Soft warm hands fussed over him in places, checking for any lingering damage from his fall the other night he supposed. “Better than earlier…felt like a blood drunk fisstech junkie.”

Regis winced, “No wonder you were out so long. You have my sympathies.”

Irritably, he batted Regis hands away as they made to pull up his eyelids. “Where is—“

“—he is fine, outside. He geared up and went to stretch his muscles, dare say he sorely needed to.” Regis shot him a knowing look. “He seems rather fond of you, ‘Detty’.”

“Bite me Regis.”

Regis pulled back and a hand fluttered anxiously before latching onto his satchel. “Well…that could be…arranged. Except the other way around…” He looked a bit sheepish, and Dettlaff could feel the _mortification _roiling off the older vampire. “Before you contacted me the second time, I had traveled north, expecting to find you in bloodied heap. So I…prepared…and am…overburdened. If you are not in need I will go purge myself and be done with it.”

The color drained from Dettlaff’s face as he realized the implications, “Oh my—Regis I am _so sorry._” Regis abstained from blood, forever and always! To have broken his oath to himself—

“What’s done is done. I killed no human, nor animal. I took what I needed over a large swath of area with no lasting effects.” Black eyes hummed with deadly energy as they stared down Dettlaff making him shiver. “You _will_ promise to not put me into a position of having to do so again—not by your own will, is that understood?”

Dettlaff trembled and his eyes blurred as he arched his neck. _Submission._ “I promise you, dear Brother. I will not do that to you again.”

“Good.” Black eyes bore into him for a few moments longer before softening. “Now, are you in need or not?”

Dettlaff nodded, even after Lambert’s blood, the events of the past day had taxed his body and stamina to its limit. “Are you sure you can afford to weaken yourself at the moment? You look ready to fall over—“

Regis sighed. “Brother if you want this, you must hurry as your friend may return any moment—I would prefer not to be on the receiving end of his ire now that his hands are properly freed.” It was Regis’s turn to arch his neck in _submission_ and Dettlaff reluctantly nodded. He would treasure this gift. It was not something his Brother offered lightly.

Dettlaff pulled Regis close and wasted no time scenting his neck before singing his fangs in and taking a long hard draw. The older vampire stifled a groan and grasped at his gambeson. Regis’s blood was earthy, and for some reason it always reminded him of home—family. Each draw was the same, and a few moments later they both shuddered, reaching their peaks.

He withdrew from the older vampire’s neck and sealed the wounds. Regis let out a relieved sigh. “Better?” Dettlaff asked as he pulled away, his own cheeks slightly pink.

“Yes, thank you. I do feel much more _normal_ now. Now quickly, get yourself cleaned up before your witcher comes back. Their nose is as good as ours in bestial form at times.” Regis shakily stood and went off to take his own advice leaving Dettlaff at a loss since he didn’t have anything to change into. Dettlaff sent _concern_ through the bond, and Regis paused looking back at him. “I will rest soon _Doctor_ Dettlaff, I am almost finished,” the older vampire gently reassured, sending him a tired smile.

A short time later after he stowed away his soiled braies, he was resting against the rock wall watching Regis finish up when Lambert returned. Icy blue eyes shifted over to the young wolf appreciatively. He was fully geared out, gloves, boots, gambeson and all. His silver and steel lay side by side on his back. Dettlaff’s lip pulled back slightly as he scented the witcher when he walked by. He stank of salt and sweat with a tinge of smoke—probably from Igni?

“S’good to see you’re finally awake Detty,” Lambert pulled his silver and steel off and lay them nearby within arm’s reach before attacking the bindings of his gambeson. “You feeling better?”

“Much,” Dettlaff said shortly as he openly watched the witcher strip off all the extras until he was down to his black shirt and trousers once again.

Lambert noticed and their gazes locked. Dettlaff could scent a change in him, but he was distracted as the witcher pulled off his boots.

“So, uh Regis showed up late this afternoon, he took a look at your handiwork. I must say, you did a damned good job Detty!” Lambert plopped down right next to him wiggling his fingers, and toes still slightly wrapped in bandages.

Dettlaff’s attention was drawn to the hands and feet, and his eyes widened in realization. The bandages were either off, or completely replaced!

Lambert took his hand then and gave it a squeeze. He could feel the _embarrassment_ through the bond as well as _comfort. _ Lambert’s heart rate picked up as Dettlaff took the hand and brought it up, his own heart welling as he studied it.

There was a clear line between the old and newer pink skin, but other than that, it looked healed. He trailed a finger lightly along the defined border, and the witcher shivered. It was obviously sensitive and needed to be bandaged.

“I didn’t let him bandage it,” Lambert said as if reading his thoughts. “I need my Signs and I need to be able to hold my sword—that much was clear after our little ‘spat’. That’s why I went out—I needed to see if I was at full strength.”

Dettlaff squeezed the hand, lowering it to his lap and marveling at its implications.

Regis chuckled from over by the fire, “I am _positive_ you are more than capable, dear witcher, now that you are full strength, especially if our little confrontation was anything to go by.”

“You better fucking know it ol’man.” Lambert touted and Dettlaff let out his warm rolling laugh in turn. There was no way a witcher could overpower a higher vampire that was serious—ever. And Regis had been exhausted at the time, hardly a fair fight!

After a few moments, Regis cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway…while you were asleep, Lambert and I had a…discussion. He had…questions.” _Worry_ and _anxiety_ suddenly came from Regis and threw Dettlaff off guard. The vampire who valued privacy and discretion above most else and never revealed information unless it was necessary—he even answered questions? This didn’t bode well for him…at all.

Blue eyes darkened noticeably, waiting to see where this was going. Dettlaff tore his gaze from his Brother and focused intently on Lambert, who was watching him and looking uncomfortable at the sudden change in conversation.

“What did you ask?—what did you tell him Regis?!” His voice was piercing and had turned to ice.

Lambert looked away and rubbed the back of his head anxiously, then winced at something he couldn’t quite place. “He…ah…he told me everything, Dettlaff.”

Dettlaff’s chest constricted as memories from earlier slowly flittered their way back to him. The conversation about his toy shop, then the orphanage—His break down.

His eyes narrowed and he visibly tensed. “W—what do you mean?” Dettlaff’s eyes flashed back and forth between Regis and Lambert. Regis had paused in corking a vial, having felt Dettlaff’s _fear_ and _anxiety_ flare up.

_Calm, safe, love_ were sent to him forcefully, willing Dettlaff to accept them. But he couldn’t—what if…did Lambert know?...About—him? Being the—

“I know—“ Lambert seemed to struggle with his words and scowled.

“You…know…what?” Dettlaff let go of Lambert’s hand, his voice had turned hollow and his insides felt flighty. As his expression started to darken and become withdrawn, Lambert spoke again.

“…what Syanna _drove_ you to do,” Lambert said, his own normally worn voice empathetic—somber.

Dettlaff’s heart stopped and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He threw off the blanket he’d been using and made to stand—to go—but the witchers hand shot out again, grabbing his own and pulling him back down. He closed his eyes as suddenly their foreheads were together.

“You are _not_ a monster.” Dettlaff whined at the power in Lambert’s words and the _conviction_ he felt through the bond. Relief threatened to overwhelm him and he shook, not trusting himself to speak.

“Even the best of us lash out when we’re hurt.” No…no he didn’t understand! He didn’t realize all the pain…all the death he’d caused!

Dettlaff pulled away, shaking his head in disbelief and with tears in his eyes. “But…the children…I—“

Sword calloused hands cradled his face and stared at him intensely. “I’ll say it one last time Dettlaff, it was NOT your fault! Hear me. You are _not_ a monster!”

Dettlaff began to crumple and a couple tears finally escaped the corners of his eyes. “You…you…really don’t…hate me?” He couldn’t believe the witcher…after all the lives he helped to ruin—the children…!

“No…” Dettlaff wilted and closed his eyes as Lambert claimed his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “…I do not.” The witcher deepened it and warmth spread throughout Dettlaff’s whole being as he relaxed fully into it for just a moment before pulling back. With their foreheads together again, he let out a hesitant laugh, he couldn’t believe it…

“And that was for saving my toes.” Lambert muttered as Dettlaff’s hands came up to grip the witcher’s shirt tightly, not allowing him to move away. His insides were twisting and his chest began to tighten for an entirely different reason now—Lambert had accepted him! More than accepted. It seemed they definitely shared the same connection!

The soft clinking of metal on glass brought him back to himself however. Regis had his back to them, though Dettlaff could feel a hint of _confusion_ and _longing_ coming from his end of the bond. With the distraction, Lambert nearly claimed his lips again—Dettlaff almost let him, but out of respect for his Brother and what he was feeling, he reluctantly pushed away from Lambert, with the silent promise to himself that they _would_ be continuing this later!

Lambert reluctantly settled back against the wall with a disappointed huff. Dettlaff refused to let go of his hand though. Squeezing it, he sent the witcher his own version of a wolfish grin now—which was all fangs as he felt the witcher’s _lust_ key up through the bond.

Oh yes, they would definitely be continuing this later!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter today, because it's my birthday! This is all I have written but I have so many plans for these 2 (4? Damn it Geralt we need you out of prison!!).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. They're adorable! Please let me know what you think!


	6. Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to TrueTattoo for your advice. Much love!
> 
> Warnings:  
Masturbation  
Kissing
> 
> In that order lol

The wind breezing past the cave entrance started to howl again as Lambert was finishing off a piece of cold lamb shank, and his thoughts drifted to a few hours back. Earlier that evening as the sun was beginning to set, he’d gone out to practice and was flinging his signs around like nobody’s business when he noticed the wind starting to pick up, and dark clouds starting to gather in the northwest. He hoped the cold front would take its time, or would miss them entirely because he really wanted to head out in the morning. It had felt _so good_ to get out, stretch, burn off some of that excess energy—

He even had the sudden urge to relieve himself of another tension that had been building which he’d been all too patiently _neglecting_. When he was outside, he was going through traditional poses, combining signs and sword play when suddenly something _pinged him_ and keyed him up _entirely._ Before he knew what he was doing, he’d abandoned his swords to the ground and had his cock in his hands. Crystal blue eyes flashed before him, filling his vision as pleasure—pleasure from elsewhere?—struck him, cascaded over him and sent searing heat down to his core. He bit his lips as his fingers stroked and he reveled in the feel of his freshly healed hand, losing himself. The tension built inside him as blue eyes watched and flashed through his mind. Suddenly, his movements became jerky and uneven until he groaned and came to completion with a startling quickness. Lambert trembled with the sudden exertion and it wasn’t until he came down from his haze that he realized he’d fallen to his knees in the snow.

Now, as he watched Regis, he still couldn’t figure out what the fuck had come over him, though he had a vague inkling. When he’d returned to the cave, he’d caught a whiff of something oddly similar to an after sex musk—and the irony tang of blood. He waved it off though, thinking maybe it was his mind playing tricks. Though from the pink tinge on Dettlaff’s cheeks, he had a feeling he was wrong. The fact that maybe, just maybe, Dettlaff had sought a similar release with his Brother nagged at him, but he played that off too. It wasn’t very different than he and his wolf school friends after all, so he wouldn’t hold it against him. Yet how that had an effect on his body while he was _outside_ was beyond him…

Lambert continued to mull it over as Regis _finally_ gathered up the rest of his supplies and tools, putting them away. The old vampire looked haggard by this point, and Dettlaff’s cool blue eyes followed his every move, his expression full of concern. Lambert had an inkling at what Regis had been going through, on his trip north to find his Brother. As Regis laid out a whole line of vials that glittered beside the fire, he empathized. If he thought Geralt had gone off the deep end, he might have acted the same!

Lambert eyed the vials, several of which were small and dark red, probably his swallow. A couple others were large and clear containing a totally unknown substance to him. The rest were a murky green. Lastly, jars similar to the one that contained the salve Regis had used on his lingering frostbite injuries were laid out as well.

With a sigh, Regis finally appeared to be satisfied with his clean up and the arrangement, and practically collapsed atop his bed roll near the fire.

“So what’s this all about, old man?” Lambert gestured to the many hours of labor stored in the product before them.

“That…is my apology to you, dear Lambert. I had not been expecting one such as yourself when I arrived—I had an inkling someone else may be here but—it being a witcher threw me into a rather instinctual state as it were, to _protect_. I injured you _and_ you lost that bottle of white gull that my Brother had somehow procured for you. For that you have my sincerest apologies.” The tired vampire said, his voice entirely sincere and even somewhat pained. A clawed hand came out and pointed at each type of item in line, explaining their uses.

“The red potion is your swallow, which I took the liberty of making with your ingredients. The green potion is a concoction of my own making that you can imbibe in small does to kill pain and induce sleep. The clear bottles are mandrake cordial, which I am remiss to say are far below my usual standard as it was made spur of the moment. The taste will be foul but should you need to be quickly warmed from the inside or need an antiseptic, that’ll do the trick. The jars are the herbal cannabis oil salve I used on you, as you might have guessed and are yours to take with you on your journey.”

Regis shifted then, grabbing something from his nearby pack. “Then, there is this. I will gift it to you in a moment. It is my prized mandrake moonshine. Properly aged and distilled, it’s as good if not better than your white gull probably was.”

Lambert found that very hard to believe! But he was excited to try it—anything to take the edge off of what he was feeling—and to distract himself from ‘things’.

The vampire uncorked the moonshine and took a long draw of it before stoppering it again and passing it over to them. “And with that gentleman, I bid you adieu and will see you in the morning.”

Lambert took the bottle gratefully as the vampire laid down, his back to the fire. There’s no telling how far Regis had come to get here, and to brew all those potions and alcohol on top of his journey and their fight…

“Thank you, Regis. Sleep well…” Lambert offered thanks but rarely, yet in this case he felt it very well deserved.

“Rest well, Brother.” Dettlaff’s warm voice rolled out into the cavern sounding much more his usual self. Lambert glanced over at the vampire who shared the bed roll and bear skin with him.

“So…” Lambert uncorked the bottle and tentatively sniffed at it. The fumes that wafted out were overpowering, on par with White Gull, giving him hope. “Shall we head out in the morning?” He took a short draw and grimaced at the burn and then sighed at the warmth blossoming inside him. He was well and truly done with this cave, though it did hold great deal of memories for him now. Lambert saw a flicker of a shadow cross Dettlaff’s face as he handed him the moonshine.

“Yes but…you wish to return to your castle, correct?” The vampire took the bottle and sniffed at it hesitantly.

“That was the idea. It would be nice to see Eskel again, even Letho. It’s too bad Geralt isn’t there. Do you think that maybe we should head back down south and help him?” The idea hadn’t really crossed his mind until that point. However, between him and Regis reminiscing about how Geralt was always there for them…

…wasn’t it time he returned the favor?

Dettlaff’s face scrunched up at the words—or was it the moonshine he just took a shot of?

“I think that would be a discussion best left for the morrow, when Regis awakes. He knows the situation in Toussaint better than either of us. Speaking of your castle, what do you wish to achieve by going there?” Dettlaff tried hard to conceal It, but he could tell the vampire was anxious about meeting other people—especially other witchers. He couldn’t blame him!

Lambert took back the bottle of mandrake and took another shot. “I just want to go home—it’s the only place I can truly call home. Catch up with my friends, help Eskel—wait out the winter.”

He took an extra shot and handed the bottle back to Dettlaff. Then he twisted onto his side to watch the vampire. Their legs brushed, and the light of the fire was beginning to dim. The low light and shadows played well against the vampire’s skin yet Lambert could see worry in his eyes. “Listen—I’ll make it work. You’ll be fine.”

Dettlaff looked to him and thinned his lips, saying nothing as he fingered the bottle in his hands.

“We kill monsters. You _are not_ a monster Dettlaff. I will make them see that.” Again, he said this with such sincerity and conviction he saw an immediate change in the vampire’s eyes, however his features didn’t relax and the worried shadows on his face didn’t smooth out. Lambert internally flailed as he tried to find the right words to assure him.

“What if they don’t listen…?” The vampire took a long pull from the bottle and licked his lips.

Lambert looked away, schooling himself. “I’ll make them. And if they don’t well—the castle is huge—“

“I will not be hidden away!” Dettlaff hissed down at him.

Yellow eyes snapped back to crystal blue, cold as ice. The vampire seemed angry—no, more determined, and Lambert could respect that. He wouldn’t have wanted to be hidden away either.

“Of course not. They _will _listen. If not…” Well…guess he’d have to figure something else out? Maybe? The whole reason he went north was for Kaer Morhen! But now…now…

“…if not, what?” Lambert noticed the vampires grip on the bottle of moonshine tightening and he could feel the tension roiling off him in waves.

Lambert became slightly withdrawn, though his voice held no less conviction. “We will figure something else out.” He took the bottle from Dettlaff and grabbed the hand that held it, squeezing it momentarily to reassure him. This was a change, for him. Normally he was the flighty one—the one that did all the biting and spitting due to the fickleness of his witcher mutations, always pushing other’s away and telling them to f-off. Now he had a salty, biting type to deal with himself. Normally he’d shine someone like this on as being too much of a pain. But…Dettlaff was different. They had seen each other at their worst, and that helped catapult their budding friendship into something entirely different which he didn’t want to lose.

“You would change your plans for me.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement of disbelief.

Something constricted inside him quite painfully as he was conflicted, but he nodded. “Yes…if I have to.” Lambert couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes, or the emotion he felt admitting that. The thought of abandoning his home so easily, and his friends—

Dettlaff suddenly claimed his lips and he moaned at the taste of pine and mandrake moonshine. The suddenness of it surprised him, and he automatically relaxed into it as Dettlaff’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head. The kiss deepened and he inhaled, breathing the vampire in. Just as heat began to pool, the vampire pulled away and took the bottle of moonshine back with a smirk.

“Asshole,” Lambert’s voice was a little moist and held no heat to it, however it was tinged with annoyance as he shifted himself uncomfortably. It was annoying how his mutations would take something as simple as a kiss to an extreme, almost every time!

“It was my turn you know!” Lambert deflected at the vampire, as he attempted to school his body back into a calm state. At this rate he feared Dettlaff would drink the whole bottle!

“Shouldn’t be talking so much then.” The vampire took another shot and twisted onto his side as well. Lambert harrumphed as he stole the bottle back and took a long pull. The burn as it went down was so intense it made his eyes water. “Yeah well, you asked for it.” He stuck his tongue out at the vampire, then pulled the bottle away quickly as the vampire lunged for it.

“Nope, still my turn—don’t be greedy!”

“Vampires are inherently greedy by nature—with the rare exception of course,” the vampire countered as he settled back, patiently waiting for his turn. Dettlaff’s gaze focused on him and hungry eyes slowly roved over his body.

Lambert shuddered and slowly lifted the bottle back to his lips. Never one to back down from a challenge, he purposefully took a slow, long draw and licked his licks teasingly afterwards. One could play this game, but two could play it better—though for how long at this rate he was unsure. The fuzziness of the warm buzz was already beginning to affect him. Honestly it was quite a dangerous game to play to begin with—especially with Regis sleeping nearby!

“Well since you’re so altruistic, I’m sure I have nothing to worry about.” He handed the half empty bottle of moonshine back to Dettlaff. Their fingers brushed during the exchange sending a shock through his body.

“I could be altruistic when I want to be, or I can be possessive when I’m not.” Dettlaff’s rich voice rolled over him and something inside him reverberated at the word _possessive._ His gaze held onto the vampires, whose lips had parted temptingly—Lambert thought he could glimpse Dettlaff’s fangs and his skin prickled at the implications. Exhaling softly, he nervously shifted his gaze from the vampire and focused on forcing his mutations to behave.

“Possessive huh? Well, many have tried and most have failed, so best of luck Detty.” He was distracted, and something he’d intended to say lightly as a joke ended up almost purred out as a challenge, and Dettlaff leaned forward.

“With pleasure, witcher.”

“Wait—“

Too late though, Dettlaff closed the small distance between them and claimed his lips a second time. This time slow and sensual, much to Lambert’s surprise. He’d been expecting something else entirely due to their banter. Maybe something more heated due to the challenge?

Lambert let the vampire lead then, enjoying how he and the vampire melded together. Dettlaff’s hand wrapped around his waist and drew him closer and Lambert relaxed into him entirely. He sighed, and they enjoyed each other for a few more moments before Dettlaff pulled away, much to Lambert’s disappointment.

As annoyed as he was, he knew it was for the best, what with their current company only a few yards away. It _would_ be rude and cruel to continue and wake the older vampire up after all the energy Regis exerted helping them. 

He was startled when Dettlaff drew their foreheads together for the second time and closed his eyes. Lambert automatically did the same and felt a strange sense of peace and security wash over him.

“What does thish mean…” Lambert managed to mumble against the calm serenity that was encompassing him, his voice thick.

“Hmmm?”

Lambert pulled away slightly and opened his eyes, blinking away the tiredness. “The forehead thing.”

Dettlaff leaned towards him at the loss of contact, and then opened his eyes looking somewhat disappointed. “Ah…that’s…”

While Dettlaff struggled with himself, Lambert stole back the bottle of moonshine and took a pull from it. The vampire scowled slightly at that but let Lambert keep it. “It is…something vampires do to those they consider or…wish to consider…as part of their pack.”

Oh.

“Oh!” Lambert’s eyes widened in realization. “You mean…what dosh that even mean?” His voice was starting to slur—the bottle of moonshine was nearly empty.

Dettlaff lent back against the wall again. “It means that…I want you in my pack. I have…wanted you in my pack I think, since the first night we met. I’ve only just realized that yesterday.” Dettlaff looked at him and he could sense the vampire was troubled.

“There’sh something more though, ishn’t there?” Lambert was touched to his core but he could also sense that wasn’t all there was to it.

The vampire gained that haunted look again and looked away, obviously conflicted.

Despite the fuzzy haze starting to overtake him, Lambert had an inkling…“You need to shay shomething I might not like.” He guessed, obviously correctly when the vampire refused to meet his eyes.

“Possibly…Something happened, that I must tell you about.” Dettlaff grimaced and turned his gaze to the flickering flames of the dying fire. “These bonds we form have…effects on both parties. Take a pack bond for example. Once formed, we will be able to sense heightened emotions from each other and be able to sense when one or the other is in danger or in discomfort. Of course you can tighten the bond or close it off entirely. That way you can still have your privacy if you wish.”

“Okay…sho, this ish the bond you wish to form with me? And you shaid it ish breakable?...” Lambert was trying his damnedest to hang on to these words. These were important questions he was finally getting answers to!

“Yes…I would be honored if you would allow me to form the bond with you—and yes it is breakable…” Dettlaff took back Lambert’s hand in order to hide the hurt that shadowed his eyes. Lambert had caught the look in them anyway.

“You!! You are hiding shomthing!” Lambert pointed at the vampire and grinned as he leaned against the vampires shoulder tiredly. “Tell meee.”

Dettlaff cradled his hand, holding it close to his chest. Lambert’s gaze lingered on it, enjoying the warmth and feeling a little overtaken by the emotion held behind such a simple action. The silence stretched for a moment, which seemed waaaaay longer to his tired and fuzzy mind, so Lambert’s gaze switched back to the vampire’s and he scowled. “Tell me.”

The dim light cast shadows across Dettlaff’s face. “When…I healed your hands, your feet—when you had trusted me enough to share your blood with me…I…unintentionally formed half a blood bond with you on my end.”

“What…whatsh a blood bond?”

“That is when…That is when two sentient beings share blood together. I didn’t share mine, but you shared yours and in the midst of your lingering words, and my thoughts and feelings on the matter—and my subconscious need to bring you into my pack…I guess it activated the blood bonding right.” Dettlaff sounded as lost and confused by this as Lambert currently felt.

Lambert scowled, still not entirely sure he got it? But he was hanging in there. He just didn’t understand the implications!

“It means that I can feel your emotions, big or small, when the bond is wide open, we could even communicate with our thoughts if we were to complete the bond. As it is right now…I have it tempered, nearly closed, so that I can only feel your peaked emotions. Right now I feel confusion, anxiety and—

“Do you want to breakth the bond?” He asked tentatively. He had no idea what the bond felt like, or why Dettlaff seemed so troubled by it. So why not b—

“No! No I…don’t wish to break it…” The vampire’s voice trailed off uncertainly…

“What elsesh are you not telling me?”

The vampire glowered at him, obviously not wishing to be pressed.

“Okay questhion for another time. So…ish that how? How you found me in the shnow?”

Dettlaff bowed his head and nodded. “Yes…and…Lambert, the bond—your pull on me meant everything at that moment.” Dettlaff dropped his hand and their foreheads were together again. The warm and fuzzy Lambert had been feeling intensified tenfold as hands warmed his cheeks and he closed his eyes.

“You saved my life that night.” Dettlaff's voice shook, barely a whisper above the wind outside.

He pulled back and blinked away the haze. “What?” Oh!

Dettlaff looked about to say something, his voice darkening but Lambert cut him off.

“No no—ish fine I get it. Regis kind of…during our discusshion—anywaysh I get it, I---“Ugh he hated talking sentimental things while soused—it was so harder to make sense of everything!

Instead of fumbling, he sighed and just stuck their heads together again—probably a little bit harder than he’d intended to and winced. “I think you saved mine too.” With him being out in the snow, having given up...Yep. Life saved.

After a moment he reluctantly pulled away and forced himself into a sitting position. The fire was dying and needed fixing, so he got to that while Dettlaff polished off the bottle of moonshine—Lambert certainly didn’t need any more as he almost fell over twice getting to the pile of kindling and logs!

“Careful now, witcher,” the vampire warned him from afar as Lambert stumbled by the fire.

Lambert could hear the amusement in his voice and it irritated him to no end! “Fuck off,” he hissed under his breath, not wanting to wake Regis as he stooped to pick out a couple choice logs which he carefully placed in the fire behind him. He went back again for a handful of kindling and added that too for good measure.

On the way back to his warm spot next to Dettlaff, he grabbed one of the clear liquid concoctions Regis came up with.

“Are you sure you want to do that, witcher? Seems to me you don’t need anymore.”

Lambert plopped down next to the vampire and leaned against him. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but I wanna try just a taste. Have you tried before?” Lambert shook the bottle at the vampire who shied away from it.

“I shall take a pass, dear witcher, as I’ve just finished off the moonshine.” Dettlaff smirked over at him and wiggled the empty bottle in his hand.

“An how did you finesh off the moonshine without getting fuckered up?” He scowled over at the vampire who looked absolutely fucking sober still. Not fair!

The vampire smiled wryly at him, “Believe me when I say I feel it—just a little, though I may not look it. We need significantly more alcohol in our system than you, in order to truly suffer from its effects.”

“Ish that so? Bet I could out drink you, vampire!”

Dettlaff chuckled, the movement rolling through Lambert’s body as well. “I don’t doubt you could _try_ witcher.”

“Challenge accepted, vampire!” Lambert uncorked the vial of strange spirit and knocked back a shot—which tasted exactly like drinking a shot of pure, undistilled alcohol. He coughed and sputtered as it seared him on the way down—worse than black blood almost!

The vampire’s laughter increased until it began to echo back at them through the tunnels.

“Fuck you—vampire,” Lambert barely managed to get out between coughs.

“That could be arranged,” Dettlaff countered with a purr.

“Shure it could, maybe later. Shleep now.” Lambert corked the bottle and glared at it as if it had wronged him.

“Do schomething with this,” he shoved it into the vampire’s hands and laid down with a huff, his head resting on Dettlaff’s thigh. “My turn to shleep for ten hours Detty, have a good night.” Lambert closed bleary eyes tiredly as he turned over and nuzzled into the vampire’s stomach. It felt like forever since he’d woken up atop bat Detty earlier that day.

“Sleep now, my friend,” the vampire murmured above him. Lambert vaguely registered the weight of a warm hand laying atop his head which began sifting through his hair. His breath evened out soon after, the weight and motion of the hand relaxing him into a deep sleep.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The morning found the trio gathering their supplies and stowing them—but in actuality, it meant that Dettlaff was gathering the supplies and stowing them in his bag, as that’s all they had. Lambert had been slow to rise that morning—and no wonder, but the witcher dutifully gathered the skin and bed roll, compacting them as best as he was able. They had so little else, Dettlaff handled the rest and they were ready to go in minutes.

Regis was waiting for them outside the cave in the low morning light, lounging on a low rock in the small clearing. The wind had died back down, and as he looked up past the tree line he could see the clouds from the night before had just barely skipped them.

“I must be off, dear Brother.” Regis stood with a fluidity Dettlaff not thought him capable of just a few hours before. It was amazing what a little sleep would do for a vampire, and Regis was nothing if not tenacious and resilient.

The crunch of snow under boots alerted him to the witchers presence. Dettlaff could feel a vague annoyance from him through the bond, and he resisted the urge to grin at the pained look on his face.

“Too bright out here,” Lambert grumbled as he stepped out into the bright white landscape.

Regis let out a knowing, toothy chuckle and Dettlaff turned away, unable to keep hold back his amusement any longer.

“I dare say you enjoyed my moonshine, young witcher?”

“Bite me, you old bat.” Lambert squinted up at the old man, unable to hide his displeasure, though there was no heat in his voice.

Dettlaff interrupted, “Regis may take you up on that offer one day, witcher, but I believe he must be going.” His brother balked at him and Dettlaff let his amusement slip through their bond.

Regis cleared his throat, clearly having a differing opinion. “Yes well, I must be off. Be well and be safe, dear Brother. Witcher, it’s been a pleasu—“

“Wait!” Lambert interrupted him as he stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the bright white everything. “Do you need help? With getting Geralt out? After all he’s done for us—it’s about time I returned the favor.”

The older vampire’s expression softened and he dipped his head. Dettlaff could feel immense gratitude flowing through their bond. “Yes, regarding that. This situation I believe would best be left to those practiced in the art of politics. It requires a bit of finesse, I dare say, and patience. Trust me when I say this dear witcher, Geralt will be in good hands. I promise he will not come to harm. Not while I am alive.”

“I can apply finesse need be,” Lambert grumbled, but did not press the subject. The palpable relief he felt through their bond piqued Dettlaff's interest.

“I have no doubt of that, but have faith and patience, young wolf. Geralt will be freed in no time. We will meet again. Take care.”

Regis misted up into a dark cloud then, and Dettlaff watched as he sped off into the distance, heading south.

“So, change of plans.”

Dettlaff turned his attention to the witcher and cocked his head curiously, waiting.

“I want to go find that witcher, repay him, now that I am able.” Lambert’s voice told Dettlaff he’d already made up his mind, but he was uneasy.

“I swore to him I would forget him.”

“Yes, you did. But I didn’t.” Lambert stepped towards him and looked away, scowling as he pawed at his wolf medallion. “I just have a feeling, we need to go, now.”

Dettlaff could feel anxiety roiling within his friend. Something was wrong.

“I am going to change.” They needed to move quickly then, and despite the fact he was still recovering, speed was of importance.

Lambert stepped back and nodded.

The change that overtook him was instantaneous, though he felt an exhausted pull as it happened. In the place he once stood was now a large black bat, one that was large enough to ride.

“_Get on. Do be careful not to step on the thin membrane of my wings.” _He chittered out a low harmonic at Lambert as he lowered himself to the ground.

He felt Lambert clamber atop him and he hissed as a boot nicked the sensitive patagium of his lower wing.

“Sorry—how do I hold on?” The witcher’s heavy weight settled awkwardly atop him.

“_Lay as flat as you can, hold onto my thick mane and use the holes near my waist to support yourself. Brace yourself, witcher.”_ Dettlaff crouched then, coiling his muscles and raised his wings to their zenith. In one smooth motion, he brought them down and released the tension in his legs, launching himself off the ground and into the sky.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Do you even know where you’re going?!” Lambert yelled over the rush of the wind. Dettlaff had been zig zagging around the tops of the snow covered trees in a pattern he couldn’t quite comprehend. Despite his attempts to lay low against Dettlaff’s body, the wind buffered him, and the jostling movement of the bat’s large wings wasn’t exactly easy to accommodate. It was quite the rush though! One that he wished he had time to truly enjoy.

“_You do not have to yell. My ears are right there.”_ The vampire aimed a loud chatter at the ground and Lambert grimaced at the noise.

“Sorry,” he said in a much more normal voice, that he couldn’t hear—cause wind! “What’s that noise you’re making?”

“_To answer your first question, this was the general direction I went when looking for supplies. I used a zig zag pattern, like I’m using now. I flew for about an hour. As to your second, I’m using echolocation in order to view what is hiding beneath the trees.”_ Dettlaff’s voice rumbled through his body, and Lambert buried his face in the bats thick mane to protect his watering eyes from the wind, his curiosity satisfied for the moment. Now his thoughts traveled back to earlier that morning.

When he woke, he’d felt almost sick with anxiety and his hand had been tightly gripping his amulet. He wasn’t _entirely_ sure what it meant, but he’d heard stories of witchers in duress out on the path, and other witchers nearby being drawn to them. The occurrence was very rare, as witchers were normally few and far between—the likelihood one was near when another was in life threatening danger was slim to none.

But still, the feeling nagged at him as he readied himself and helped Dettlaff and Regis any way he could. By the time they were ready and he’d breached the opening of the cave, he’d made up his mind.

Dettlaff had surprised him then by going along with his plans so easily—maybe he felt how anxious Lambert was? He couldn’t be sure, especially with that whole bond thing. But he was grateful nonetheless. Even if it was coincidental, his anxiety and the pull of his amulet, he still wanted to repay the kindness the witcher had showed him. They all stuck together after all.

“_There!”_ Dettlaff called out excitedly and Lambert’s head shot up. His stomach flipped as the vampire dove below the tree line and suddenly dropped them in front of a cabin.

Lambert launched himself off the vampires back and landed in the snow with a crunch—his legs almost giving out as his adrenaline from the flight and gravity pulled at him. Immediately he could tell something was wrong.

The door to the cabin lay open and at an odd angle, and no sound came from inside. Lambert drew his steel and tentatively moved forward, and Dettlaff shifted into his vampire form, claws out. He keyed up his mutations, sharpening his vision and hearing, and strengthening his sense of smell. He could smell humans and something else—something alien. As he moved closer he could tell the inside of the cabin was in disarray. This wasn’t the work of a monster—people did this.

“Blood,” Dettlaff growled and brushed passed him at speed into the cabin. Lambert quickly followed, registering the coppery iron scent just as Dettlaff voiced it. Ducking inside, his eyes fell immediately on the witcher who was slumped against an old armoire, his arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Vam—pire,” the witcher coughed, and Lambert could see blood in the corner of his mouth. “I—told you not to—come back.”

“Shut up you old fool, save your strength,” Lambert hissed as he crouched in front of him. “Dettlaff, the bag.”

Lambert checked over the old witcher, and vaguely registered the wolf amulet clutched tightly in his hands as he focused on the more immediate problem—his chest wound—or more accurately, multiple puncture wounds, and the vampire bite on his neck.

“Whoever this was alerted you…you took black blood…” Lambert talked mostly to himself as he took the sack from Dettlaff and started rummaging through it. “Dettlaff, please check the woods. Look for a bruxa or fleder, though I doubt the latter will be this far north this time of year—fucking hate lower vampires!” He hissed as he pulled out a vial of swallow and a jar of the green salve. Lambert heard a shriek and felt the thrum and beat of wings as the vampire left the cabin and took off on the hunt.

“Drink this,” Lambert uncorked a swallow and helped the old man get it down. His curiosity was burning him—but his questions could wait until later. After the vial was empty, he recorked it and put it away. “Time to get your top off old man, I need to get at those wounds.”

“The—they’re not that bad.” Blood stained the witchers teeth as he spoke.

“Fuck you old man, I’m not dumb. You can’t blind me with your bullshit.” Lambert continued to do as he wanted, and when the man didn’t even bother shifting to help, he settled for cutting the shirt off with his pocket knife. It was ruined anyway!

Now that he was able to get a good view of the wounds, he could get started. Grabbing the poorly made moonshine and a wad of bandages, he warned the old man. “I’m sure it’s been a while since anyone’s told you this, but brace yourself.”

“You—you’re the one he help—argh!” Lambert was all business while he cleaned the bite and puncture wounds, and nodded. “Yep that’s me. Felt weird this morning when I woke up, thought I’d come check on you before we went back north—repay the favor and all that. I hate to be indebted.”

That earned him a pained and somewhat garbled chuckle from the witcher. “I hear ya—young wolf.”

As he opened the jar of salve, he heard a shriek in the distance. “Bare with me witcher, we’re almost done. I’m no doctor and am about at my limit here.” Lambert wasted no time scooping up a generous amount of the salve and gently worked it into the wounds. “It’s a healing salve, it should numb the pain and speed up regeneration.”

When he’d finished, he pulled out the roll of bandages and did his best to stop the bleeding and wrap the witcher up. By this time, the old man had closed his eyes and was breathing shallowly. Lambert hoped he wasn’t too late.

He put away the supplies and stood, finally taking in the cabin in whole. Ingredients, decoctions, and oils lined the left and back wall on shelves, and herbs hung above the fire place. The table had been upturned in the struggle that had taken place, and several jars of canned goods were broken. Glass and liquid coated the floor, stinking up the place along with the tang of blood.

“Shirt? Armor?” Lambert asked, looking around for any sign of them, or swords even!

“Re—tired. Armor and swords gone, stashed away. Just have—medallion. Shirts—in trunk.” The witcher gasped and heaved, trying to catch his breath after such a long winded reply. Lambert scowled and went to the chest and rummaged through it. He found several different small clothes which he gathered up, and a pack. He grabbed that too and went back to the witcher.

Lambert felt Dettlaff land just then and rush inside the cabin.

“I found a bruxa, this note was on her.” Dettlaff handed him a blood stained note covered in ashes which Lambert quickly pocketed. He could investigate it later.

“Help me,” he gestured to the now unconscious witcher and started pulling the linen shirt down over his head. Dettlaff assisted with the man’s arms and soon he at least had a top on.

“We need to go to Ban Ard,” Lambert decided, as Kaer Morhen was too far away, and with the three of them traveling it would be much much slower. “I doubt you can carry the both of us, any ideas?”

He shifted the heavy witcher to the side and rummaged inside of the armoire, pulling out a leather jerkin and black long sleeved tunic. Dettlaff started helping him dress the old witcher as he spoke.

“Even at full strength, carrying two would be a feat, and carrying him alone would be too dangerous. We must walk the rest of the way.” As much as he tried to hide it, Dettlaff did sound tired, and Lambert felt a momentary pang of guilt at making the vampire rush all the way out here on basically a gut instinct. Looking around, he took stock of what was left of the house.

“I can make a litter from what he has here, we can tie him to it and stabilize him, then drag him or carry him between us. Look around and see what he has? Take anything useful you think he’ll need, but please make sure you grab the oils on the shelves. I need them for my swords.” Lambert stood and grabbed a bundle of rope that was in the corner then went to the door. It was hanging off its hinges already, and with a quick shove he was able to dislodge it entirely.

Taking the door outside he lay it on the ground and set to work making a litter of sorts to lay the witcher on. It didn’t take too long—all he had to do was focus a few ignis into a hot stream and burn a few holes into the sides of the door to tie the rope to. Pulling the pocket knife from his belt, he cut the rope into three sections, about three and a half feet wide each, and attached one end of each to the right side of the door. The rest of the length he tied to the top, one end into each hole, forming a long loop that they could pull the board with. He then went back into the cabin and pulled the blankets off the witchers bed and folded it into thirds, then placed it on the litter.

Dettlaff chose that moment to come out with the witcher in his arms and gently lay him down onto the board. The vampire then went inside and grabbed a second blanket from the latent chest, and used it to cover the witcher. Lambert smiled at the thoughtfulness of it as he took the loose ends of the rope and pulled them over the witcher. He threaded them through the holes on the opposite holes, pulled them snug and secured them. Satisfied, Lambert ducked back into the house and grabbed the now full pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders and back.

Lambert dashed back outside and stepped into the long loop that lay on the ground, then pulled it up around his torso. Dettlaff was crouched near the witcher, monitoring his heart beat? “Okay. We got this—Dettlaff? I know you’re pretty burnt but can you fly ahead? If the humans are still around I really wanna fucking _talk_ to them.”

The vampire stood, nodding. A shadow flickered across the vampires face and Lambert scowled as he closed the distance between them.

Forehead press thing—Lambert resisted the urge to close his eyes, still too full of adrenaline, but leaned into it anyway.

“The bond is not formed between us yet—if you need me, whatever emotion your feeling, aim it towards me—no matter where I am, I will feel you and come.” Dettlaff’s words ran through him like warm water, making him shiver against the crisp morning air. He nodded and pulled away.

“Be safe, Lambert,” the vampire said as he turned, transforming once again into the large black bat he’d become so familiar with, and launched himself from the ground.

“As if I would be anything else,” Lambert said to himself with a tight lipped grin. Gripping the rope, he pulled it taut, testing the litter and saw that the witcher slowly started moving along with him. He set his lips into a thin line then, and angled his way east northeast towards Ban Ard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp this chapter threw me for a loop. Sometimes the writing does what it wants!
> 
> Next chapter is worse :) 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoy!


	7. Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettlaff urges Lambert to find shelter before the storm hits, but the vampire is tired. He'd been flying almost a whole day and then some off and on--Lambert applies a latent witcher skill, _massaging_ to use! Things _escalate_ and something broken is fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
Sex and everything that goes with it  
Angst
> 
> Pretty much in that order. Enjoy a 9000 word chapter!

It was early evening when Lambert heard the thrum of wing-beats close in on him from the distance. His senses were still keyed up and he was constantly on guard ready to pull his steel. Yet he’d been moving almost nonstop, trudging through the snow, most times making his own path through it which slowed him down, and only stopping every so often to check on the old witcher. A million different thoughts and questions flittered through his mind: Who did this? Why? Where did they go? Would he survive? What was on the letter he hadn’t had time to read? He hoped Dettlaff was okay, and that Regis was safe. He worried about Geralt in the prison, and yearned for the warmth and comfort of Kaer Morhen.

He grunted as he pulled the heavy witcher up a small hill and over a short frozen ledge between some snow-covered trees. Lambert was stiff, his pants soaked through, his boots sodden, and the blanket around the unconscious witcher was getting soaked through as well. It seemed to be a constant struggle in this damn forest to stay _warm _and _dry;_ and it was a battle he was really tired of fighting. If he had any hope of drying off, they had to make it to the small town outside Ban Ard and get a room. Then they’d have someplace warm for the witcher to rest and heal. But as the light began to dim, it didn’t seem like that would be a possibility.

A sudden rush of wings and a thud sounded from behind him. Lambert looked back over his shoulder to see Dettlaff in bat form, sprawled out and panting. He dropped the rope of the litter and turned, jumping the ledge between the trees and crunched his way down through the path back to Dettlaff. The bat was shaking from exertion but was slowly coming back to himself, his breathing evening out.

“_I am fine,”_ the deep harmonic reverberated through the air, answering Lambert’s unspoken question.

Concern for his friend lanced through him but he fought to temper it and instead looked away back to where the litter was laying. “How close are we?” He’d been moving at a pretty good pace, struggling through freshly powdered snow aside.

“_We are_—“ Dettlaff growled at himself and quickly transformed back, probably opting to conserve his strength. The vampire looked drawn, though he sounded much more himself when he spoke. “We are a few miles still from the outskirts of town. However, the storm that skipped past us last night has circulated and is now at our rear. I highly suggest we find shelter and attempt to wait it out.”

“Fucking great, did you see any place nearby we could use? We need to collect some wood, this guy has to stay warm at all costs.” Lambert went back to the litter and stepped into the rope, lifting it up once again. His eyes scanned the forest around them, not seeing much other than trees, mounds of snow and the occasional pile of ice covered rocks.

Suddenly he heard a deep chatter behind him and he spun, eyes locking onto Dettlaff. The vampires eyes were closed, and he tilted his head to the side as if listening.

Did he just—

Dettlaff turned and did it again, his mouth opening just slightly. Lambert saw how the vampire’s throat moved in time with the clicks.

Lambert watched in wonder as the vampire continued to rotate and repeat the process. The other-worldliness of the moment made him realize how different they were, aside from the vampire vs human physiology. Hell, witchers in general didn’t know all that much about vampires as a whole. So he actually looked forward to getting to know Dettlaff and learning from him.

The vampire’s eyes snapped open when he was done, his gaze however still looked distant. “I may have found something suitable, though not ideal. We do not have much choice in the matter. Follow.”

Dettlaff moved off, only lingering long enough to wait for Lambert to rotate the litter and come back down the hill, then he was off. Lambert hurried after him. They had been heading east northeast, but now they headed northwest, back towards the Liksela River.

As they made their way, Lambert was careful to keep an eye out for anything that he could use for kindling or firewood. Luck was not with him, per usual, but he still grabbed a few sizable pieces and stuck them on the litter for later. He could always dry them out with igni.

After about thirty minutes or so of struggling with the fresh snow and litter in silence, he could hear the river. While it was mostly frozen, he could still make out the creaking of the ice, and hear the water flowing beneath it. The sounds made him shudder and anxiety began to work its way into his chest, tightening its hold as they moved closer. After another few minutes of struggling with the litter and his anxiety, they broached the tree line and were met by a snow covered outcropping that jutted out towards the river, hidden slightly behind iced over bushes and a handful of dead trees. Despite the logic and reason of his mind, he still shied away from the flow of water and ice, and refused to get closer than ten meters or so. Dettlaff impatiently beckoned him forward, then disappeared beneath the snow covered rock face. Scowling, Lambert reluctantly followed and stayed as far from the shoreline as possible.

Underneath the rocky outcropping it was mostly dry, though rocky and slightly uneven. The frozen surface of the river began but four or five meters from where he ducked under and the outcropping ended with it.

“This’ll work. We need to make a fire though and even out the terrain—“

Dettlaff beat him to it and had already began kicking rocks aside to make room, and picking up kindling as he went, which wasn’t much. At all.

As Lambert pulled the unconscious witcher safely under the outcropping and settled him in a level spot near the wall, he scowled. “There’s no way we’ll make it through the night with that.” Even with the few pieces he found and added to it…

“I’ll go loo—“

Lambert interrupted the vampire and waved his hand. “No, sit, rest. Look after the witcher. I’ll go look. It’s getting dark, and if I don’t find anything you’ll need your strength, because we’ll need your heat.”

Dettlaff nodded and Lambert was glad he understood, as he remembered how warm the bat’s body had been. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do that to the vampire, after all else, but worst case scenario…

“I’ll be right back,” he promised as he pushed out the other side of the outcropping.

The sun was beginning to set, and the trees around them threw the area into shadow. He cautiously made his way around the side of the outcropping, picking up a twig here, or dried bramble there. Most everything was covered in ice or buried under the snow. When he got to the tree line, he saw the moss and lichen covering the trees, and that was sodden as well, but he grabbed a few handfuls anyway. Again, igni was a witchers best friend in the middle of winter. Sodden or not, he could make it work.

Lambert activated his witcher senses to increase the sharpness and clarity of his vision then as he moved deeper into the forest, but sacrificed color as he did so. It let him see further back into the forest, which was now nearly dark, but he couldn’t find anything of use aside for a few small logs which he cupped under his arm.

Lambert was almost getting desperate by this point. Having to rely on Dettlaff…who was almost becoming a crutch, embarrassingly so. He was a witcher damn it! He grew up in the mountains of Kaer Morhen, in the middle of winter! He was taught how to make a snow igloo for fuck sake but it was too late for that—the sun had already set, so they’d have to rely on his igni and Dett…he was tiring too, and now they had the old man to take care of…

“Fuck!” Anger burned through him and he punched the nearest tree, splitting its bark and leaving marks of red. The pain barely registered, his hand having gone numb from the cold long ago. The blood trickled from the cuts into the snow below, but the sensation was a ghost at the back of his mind. He had to think…_think_…

Suddenly warm hands had taken hold of his own and Lambert startled as he looked up into clear grey eyes. Dettlaff wore a worried expression, and his face, the color of his eyes—it was all grey-scale to Lambert now due to his mutations, eerie and almost disconcerting.

“You know you don’t have to come running every time you feel my anger or whatever flare up. You should be resting.” Lambert hissed as he took his hands back. He was feeling frustrated at being ill prepared and not having enough time to gather wood or build a shelter, witcher style.

“I wouldn’t have come running if we were properly bonded,” the vampire countered, undeterred by Lambert’s frustrated attitude. “I can only sense what you feel. If you feel anger, or anguish, I will come. If we were bonded you could communicate safety, or comfort. Without that, I will continue to have this unquenchable need to go to you, to protect.”

Lambert ground his teeth together, still fuming and now feeling slightly guilty to boot. “Yeah…well, we don’t have time for that, and I have no idea how much energy that’ll take from you. I’ve abused you enough as it is today.” He went to move past the vampire who gently grabbed his arm, holding him back.

“It will take no energy. And you have not ‘abused’ me. What I do is of my own free will.”

Dettlaff’s face was in shadow now, and it was hard to make out his expression, but he could hear the determination in the vampire’s voice. Still…

“It’s not a good time Dettlaff…we need to—“

“I can understand if you’d be afraid to bond with me.” Dettlaff interrupted him as he stepped closer and tilted his head to the side.

Lambert’s expression softened somewhat at the show of understanding. “I’m not afraid. I’ve just got—“

The hand on his arm squeezed, offering him some semblance of reassurance before dropping away.

He floundered for a moment, wanting to offer the vampire the same kind of assurance. Carefully, he chose words which the vampire might be able to relate to. “The witcher…he is like an extended version of my own pack. An extended family. If we see another witcher in a life threatening situation, we help, no questions asked.” Lambert could see comprehension in Dettlaff’s eyes, who gave him the tiniest of nods. “I want to be of your pack, but you must wait, a little while longer.”

Dettlaff nodded down to his hand. “Do you want me to—“

“No…It’s fine. It’s good to be reminded that I’m human sometimes.” _And breakable._

Lambert stepped aside and slowly walked back down the slope towards the iced over river.

His mind was racing as he walked back with the implications of the bond talk. He was all for the pack bond, something which he’d share with both Dettlaff and Regis past that point, and would broaden the small circle of people he could consider close friends. But…a blood bond? From what he understood it was quite a bit more serious, though still breakable in the end. Regis and Dettlaff were blood brothers. If he’d doubted that fact, it was made real when he had returned from his training the evening before. He could smell the telltale scent of cum and tang of blood, though he decided it would be best not to comment on it…Lambert felt a bit of jealousy then, but he stifled it, reminding himself—blood brothers! That was all!

It was all though, wasn’t it? They could be bonded by blood…and even if…this _thing_ they had together, if it didn’t work out—he could still count them as very close friends due to it, couldn’t he? Wouldn’t that by itself still make it worth it? Dettlaff was obviously intent on adjusting their bond, though he had yet to outright voice it. The vampire wanted the connection, and if he were honest with himself, he did too. It would be nice to finally have someone close, who understood him and put up with his prickly attitude…

He had a lot to mull over as he returned to the outcropping and ducked inside. The witcher was still unconscious, and Lambert eyed the small pile of wood and kindling with distaste. He added his own to it and scowled. It wouldn’t even buy them but a few hours. His eyes drifted back to the witcher then, and the blanket that covered him. He went over to check the blanket and was satisfied to see that it wasn’t soaked all the way through and was just a little damp. Then his gaze shifted to the rock wall behind him. Perhaps…

Lambert approached the wall, eyes narrowing as he considered. “How sturdy do you think this outcropping is?” He studied it, looking for cracks in the wall and turned his gaze to the overhang.

Dettlaff considered for a moment and shrugged. “Strong enough to hold the weight of ice and a snow pack?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping. I want to try something. Can you take the witcher outside a ways?” An idea formed in his mind as he visualized the flame heating the rock, and it radiating the heat outwards, warming them. As Dettlaff moved the older witcher, Lambert hunted around for several medium stones that wouldn’t be too heavy or uncomfortable to hold. He placed them at the base of the wall.

Once the witcher was clear, he held out his palm towards the wall and made the sign for Igni. The fiery blast struck the wall and ignited the bits of brush, and charred the dirt and rocks. Lambert could feel the heat as it seared the stone in front of him and radiated outwards. Squinting against the blinding light, he held the stream for a few more moments before cutting it off with a swipe of his hand. After a few seconds of blinking and willing his fire-blind eyes to adjust, he viewed his handiwork.

Bits of the wall glowed and it smoked in places too, but otherwise it held firm. Heat radiated from the stone and the rocks now, making the low overhang feel almost cozy.

“C’mon bring him back, though not too close to the wall now. It’s hot, and I’ll be having to do this off and on all night.” Lambert tentatively touched the stones he’d placed, and they were hot, though not searing. When Dettlaff brought the witcher back in, he placed two stones on each side of the litter. It would be just warm enough now that it should dry the blanket out, and keep the witcher warm.

By now the snow started to lazily drift in from the storm, limiting their visibility in the gathering darkness, and the wind began to pick up. Dettlaff had retrieved his sack and pulled out their bed roll, bear skin and linen blanket. The vampire placed the bedroll and fur on the other side of the heated stones and settled down on top of them with a pained grunt.

Lambert looked over at him, concerned, but the wind chose that moment to change direction and whistled through the overhang. Lambert shivered. They needed more stones!

“I’ll be right back,” he said, quickly ducking outside and hunting around. He carefully followed the frozen river in the darkness. Willing his eyes to adjust to the encroaching darkness again, the greyscale took over and after a few minutes he found what he was looking for. Hefting a few medium sized stones back to the overhang, he dropped them right outside and blasted them with igni. Then he waited a moment before moving them next to Dettlaff and their makeshift bed.

The heat that radiated from the wall and the rocks seemed to be working well enough to keep the small area warm, at least until the wind decided to shift and breeze through the narrow space. Satisfied with his solution, he checked on the old witcher to make sure he was still stable, and plopped down next to Dettlaff. He started pulling off his sodden boots then so he could start drying out his socks. “How you doing Detty?”

The vampire beside him let out a barely audible sigh, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the vampire gingerly shift himself on the spot. “Well enough. Tired, sore. But I’ll survive. Ingenious solution to our problem witcher, though it took you a while to figure it out.”

“Tch, as if you could do any better. At least you don’t have to bat out now!” Lambert elbowed the vampire playfully, making him flinch away.

Frowning, he paused at unfastening the buckles of his gambeson and turned to really look at Dettlaff. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

The vampire sighed. “It’s normal after using that form for an extended period,” Dettlaff tried deflecting, though now that they were so close Lambert could see how weary the vampire truly was.

“Right…” Lambert narrowed his eyes and slowly finished pulling off his gambeson, considering his options. The vampire had a rough few days. They’ve both had it rough, honestly, and that hard cave floor wasn’t exactly kind to them…

Hmmm…Making up his mind and feeling a bit daring, he set the gambeson aside and shifted. Before Dettlaff could garner any inclination from his thoughts or emotions of what he was about to do, he brought his hand up and gently pinched at the back of the vampire’s neck with his thumb and index finger—the reaction was instantaneous.

“Nnnn!” Dettlaff flinched away in surprise and scowled at him. “What are you doing witcher?!”

“I was testing for tenderness and knots—your neck is very sensitive, so I’m sure you’re full of them. Let me help you out. We used to do this all the time back at the castle, after our training exercises.” Lambert wasn’t an expert, but he and his wolf school pals helped each other out enough to at least know _something._

“Mhmm..and you intend to do this in the dark?” Dettlaff sounded skeptical.

“Nah, lemme fix up my hand, then I’ll use the little wood we gathered so I can see what I’m doing. The rest of the night I’ll tend to the wall and stones, no big. Going without sleep for one night won’t kill me. Take off your surcoat while I get this ready. It’ll be in the way otherwise.” Lambert shifted into a crouch and moved over to the pile of wood.

He built a small stack in front of them, and set what was left over to the side, then lit it the main pile with a quick igni. The moisture in the wood snapped and popped as the wood instantly heated, and the wind picked up the sparks that flew into the air, carrying it away from them.

“There,” he wiped his hands on his trousers and turned back to Dettlaff who sat stiffly on the bed roll. To Lambert’s surprise, he’d taken the liberty of removing everything except his trousers. Good, that’ll make getting at his knots a lot easier!

But first he needed to clean up his hand, so he went to the pack and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and the small jar of salve. Biting his lip, he uncorked the bottle of alcohol and drizzled it over the cuts on the back of his hand. He hissed and rubbed the alcohol into the abrasions to make sure they were clean, and removed all the crusted blood. After letting the alcohol dry, he uncapped the jar and massaged some of the salve into the cuts. It tingled, and after a moment the stinging started going away and was replaced with itching as it began to heal.

Lambert grit his teeth at the itching as he put the items away, forcing himself to ignore it. Then he grabbed a small vial of oil from the old witchers sack, to use while he worked on Dettlaff. Now that he was ready, he kneeled next to the vampire and posed him a very simple question. “After tiring yourself in that form, what pains you the most? Arms? Shoulders? Neck? Back?”

“Everything,” Dettlaff replied just as simply.

Lambert’s eye brows shot up as he considered his options. Well, at least he’s honest…“Okay…Let’s start on your shoulders and neck, then I’ll hit your back and arms. After that we’ll figure the rest out…Turn towards the fire if you would.”

Lambert shifted on his knees and as Dettlaff did the same he uncorked the oil and rubbed a good amount between his hands. Then, with but a moments of hesitation to get himself in the right mindset, he started.

He applied the same technique to Dettlaff that he would have to either Geralt or Eskel—using the heels of his hand, thumbs and finger tips to seek out and smooth away knots. He started easy though, knowing how tender the vampire was. When he found the first major knot situated at the base of Dettlaff’s neck just above his shoulder blade, the vampire cried out and flinched away.

Lambert felt a pang of sympathy, yet he’d barely even touched it! “Suck it up Detty, it is going to hurt. I’ll go easy as possible but try to grin and bear it, okay?”

Dettlaff said nothing and merely nodded. Lambert could feel the tension roiling off the vampire, and knew he had his work cut out for him. “Try to relax, you’ll only make it worse.”

Carefully, he retraced his movements hoping to lull the vampire into a more relaxed state before he touched on the knot again. The reaction was nearly identical as before, though with Dettlaff letting out a curse in a language that Lambert didn’t understand.

“Ookay, that’s not working. Give me a second, I have an idea.” Crawling over to the warm wall, he felt around until he found a few smooth stones of various sizes, no larger than the palm of his hand, and no smaller than a crown. They’d do perfectly for the idea that had suddenly struck him!

Settling next to Dettlaff again, he set the stones to the side a couple feet away and aimed a stream of igni at them. He ran the fire back and forth over the stones a few times before cutting it off.

He could see them steaming in the cool night air. Tentatively, he poked at them. They were hot, but manageable.

Dettlaff had been watching him curiously.

“Hot stone massage, my vampire friend. Maybe this will help you relax?” Lambert grinned at the vampire as he held the large palm sized stone in his hand.

“Perhaps, it may work…” The vampire turned around and Lambert could tell he was still tense. Hopefully that was about to change!

Worrying his lip, he tentatively placed the stone against the offending spot and held it there while his free hand kneaded the vampires other shoulder. After a moment, the vampire relaxed into him and groaned as Lambert started to apply pressure with the rock.

“There…” Lambert worked the knot slowly and bit his lip whenever Dettlaff groaned or let out a soft keen. After a moment, he switched to a smaller rock and continued. The smaller rock allowed him to apply more pressure and to dig into the knot, slowly working it out. A few minutes in and the smallest rock later, he felt all the tension drain out of the vampire and his posture slacken.

“Better?” Lambert set the stones aside in a cluster and reheated them, just in case.

“Mhnnnn.”

Dettlaff’s eyes were closed, and his chin was to his chest as Lambert double checked the opposite shoulder in the same spot for a similar knot. Low and behold, he found one and repeated the entire process all over again.

“Must be some serious wing muscles in those shoulders of yours,” Lambert grumbled teasingly as he finished the second large knot and moved onto the vampire’s neck after he applied more oil to his hands.

“Wing muscles consist of nearly two thirds of my body. Back, chest, shoulders, arms, down sides and to legs. Nearly everything is used to keep the weight of our bat forms aloft. And if it’s not being used, there is tension actively being applied regardless.” Dettlaff explained, his voice low and rolling—relaxed. “Flying is very tiring for an extended period,” he murmured.

“Mhm…” Lambert moved to the vampire’s neck and worked especially carefully considering the tenderness he discovered earlier. Silky black locks curled around his fingers as he worked and he worried his lip further. Being so intimate with the vampire on the path like this, especially with an extra, was _not_ something he had planned. However it was the least he could do for all the hard work Dettlaff had put in.

Dettlaff groaned and tilted his head back, leaning into Lambert and encouraging him to increase the pressure—he obliged of course, though now pressure was increasing in _other places. _Damn it.

He spent a few more minutes on his neck, then touched on the vampires scalp, though he didn’t linger long there. The whole of his back still needed to be attended to. Lambert worked his way down then, following the spine, then focused beneath the shoulder blades he’d touched on earlier. He worked symmetrically, one hand following the exact same pattern as the other. Hands splayed out, he moved his palms towards the vampire’s sides and his fingertips applied pressure there as wel—

Lambert froze as the vampire shuddered and he lurched away from his touch.

He could see the vampire shaking and holding his body taut for some reason.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice full of curiosity and concern.

“Y—yes. Fine. Don’t touch my sides.” Dettlaff didn’t elaborate through his strained voice, and Lambert grinned.

“Ticklish?”

The vampire seemed to be getting ahold of himself and shook his head. Negative—if not ticklish then it could only be one other thing.

His grin widened and he made a mental note to abuse for later.

The thought of hitting that spot again was tantalizing, and distracting, so Lambert finished up with Dettlaff’s back and worked out the few knots he found, before moving back up to his shoulders. He shifted position then, so that he kneeled next to Dettlaff, facing him.

The vampires normally crystal eyes were dark and lidded, his expression tired and relaxed. It was empowering, knowing he had that kind of effect on the vampire, and it made him want to do other things as well. Worrying his lip, he applied more oil and turned his attention back to Dettlaff’s arm before he could focus too much on what those _things_ were.

Starting at the shoulder, Lambert slowly worked his way down the vampires arm. He took his time with his taut muscles there which were stiff and tender, squeezing and stroking them with his palms and fingertips. Thankfully they weren’t knotted like his back and shoulders had been. When he got down to the vampire’s wrist, he felt Dettlaff stiffen.

Lambert glanced up and saw the vampire watching his hands work, lips parted slightly and fangs glimmering in the dim firelight. Gently, he worked the wrist, massaging it, and then grabbed the hand and slowly rotated it, stretching the muscles there. Dettlaff’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch and Lambert bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself.

He moved onto the center of his hand then, using both his thumbs to massage the inner palm and move outwards. Then he grasped that fleshy part between the thumb and index finger and massaged there—a pressure point, or so he thought. He felt the vampire shudder again and Lambert looked up to him. Dettlaff’s eyes were still closed, but now _he_ was the one worrying his lip with a fang peaking out.

A shot of lightning went straight to his groin and he looked away, trying to school himself away from _bad_ thoughts. This was for Dettlaff, and if it wasn’t the time for bond making, it wasn’t the time for anything else either…

Finishing that hand, he switched sides. Though now he was feeling kind of mischievous…No, they couldn’t do anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease the vampire…right? Dettlaff could stop him anytime…

This time when he worked the vampire’s and, he started with the fingers, the smallest one. It was then he noticed that the fleshy parts between each digit were…just a little more fleshy than normal. Checking to make sure that Dettlaff still had his eyes closed, he discreetly compared both their hands and was surprised by the subtle difference...interesting...

As he moved from one finger to the next, he experimentally felt out the fleshy skin—marveling that it felt more like a thin membrane as he massaged. It wasn’t until he got to the third finger that Dettlaff whined.

Lambert’s gaze shot up again and he was startled to see heavily lidded blue eyes turned black by pupils blown wide.

“You know not what you do, Lambert.” Dettlaff’s voice came out thick, and the accent he couldn’t quite place was suddenly very prominent.

Lambert looked from Dettlaff to the hand he held, and to the sudden very obvious bulge in the vampire’s trousers.

Actually, he kind of _did know_, but it was meant to be teasing—he didn’t realize it was _that serious_ of a _thing. _And now that he was faced with it, he really couldn’t help what he did next.

He moved onto the fourth finger, watching Dettlaff all the while, pulling on the digit to stretch it, bending it back and rotating it to loosen the joint, then moving down to the fleshy spot that had been driving the vampire to the brink.

Lambert watched the vampire as his thumb and index finger traced the membrane, just barely ghosting the skin. Dettlaff shuddered again and let out a moan as he closed his eyes. Empowered, Lambert plucked at it softly, then pulled.

Dettlaff keened and bit his lip then, drawing blood as he warred with himself, obviously _wanting_ to do something about it.

Lambert was done warring though and was ready to embrace the hypocrisy that would be thrown in his face later. He couldn’t take the pressure anymore or the temptation—the waiting. He’d run out of patience!

“Look at me,” he husked now, his voice low as he let his witcher wiring key up what he was feeling. Intense black blue eyes flickered up to his and watched as he drew Dettlaff’s hand up to his lips. Slowly, he flicked his tongue out and licked at the fleshy thin membrane then grazed it with his teeth.

Dettlaff let out a growl and suddenly he was on the ground, their positions reversed as the vampire ground into him. Lambert groaned and bucked up into the vampire automatically, his own yellow eyes glowing.

“You know not what you’re asking, Lambert,” Dettlaff repeated, though the words were slightly different than the last time, and his accent thick. There was a bundle of tension behind Dettlaff’s voice, a strain—the vampire was trying so hard to resist, but he didn’t have to anymore damn it!

“Whoever said I was asking,” he bit back as he pushed himself up on his elbows. One of his hands found the spot he’d discovered along Dettlaff’s side earlier and he grazed it with his nails. Lambert’s pupils blew out as he watched, entranced as he felt the vampire shudder beneath his touch.

“You know not—“

“I know exactly what I’m fucking doing, Dettlaff,” he hissed as he grabbed the vampires hips, grinding them together hard as he quickly closed the distance between them.

Dettlaff was with him now as they crashed together and Lambert wasted no time in deepening the kiss, delving into Dettlaff and reveling in his taste—pine and crisp mountain air, now tinged with the coppery tang of blood from where the vampire bit himself which somehow drove him mad. A hand came up and wound into his lengthening hair and yanked his head painfully, and he groaned, relishing in it. Dettlaff pushed into him then, their tongues warring, and Lambert melted into it. He moaned as a fang cut his lip and he allowed the vampire to take control. Meanwhile, Lambert’s hand explored the over sensitive portion of the vampires side and his other wound into silky black hair, drawing him in deeper.

Lambert lost himself to sensation and most thinking stopped. He was lost to the fangs grazing his tongue which Dettlaff sucked on and him groaning as he arched up into the vampire. At some point he realized their tops had come off, but was distracted from the thought as claws traveled up his back, leaving red welts in their wake after he’d bit Dettlaff’s lip. He sucked on the reopened wound, and Dettlaff pulled back with a moan. The vampire’s lips were swollen and bloody, tempting. Lambert leant forward to claim them but the hand gripping his hair didn’t allow him to move. His hair was held taut and his scalp ached pleasantly as he strained against it.

“Tell me what you want, witcher,” Dettlaff husked down at him as he ground their cocks together.

Lambert’s eyes fluttered shut as the tension became downright painful. “You know what I want, vampire,” he hissed back, his voice deep and moist with need.

Dettlaff glowered down at him and yanked his head back, making him cry out as his throat was bore to the vampire. Something deep inside him urged him to fight, to run and get himself out of the vulnerable position—but he ignored it. The vulnerability made his blood and heart sing with anticipation.

“Do it,” he husked as his hand dropped from Dettlaff’s hair to his own swollen, bloody lip. He traced his thumb over the wound, smearing the blood, then brought it to his own neck, coating his pulse point with it. The effect he had on Dettlaff was nearly instantaneous as the vampire closed the distance between them. His heart fluttered and groin panged as lips brushed against his skin and Dettlaff’s warm tongue darted out to taste him.

He knew this feeling, he vaguely remembered it, and the words he’d said so hopelessly just a few short days ago.

_“Just this once, I’d like it to be real…”_

Now it was, more real than he could have ever imagined.

Lambert shuddered as teeth grazed his skin, and a sudden urge to voice what Dettlaff had been refusing to came over him as his decision solidified. “Fix it,” he husked, voice barely audible.

Dettlaff tensed and pulled back to gaze down at him. His eyebrows furrowed, uncomprehending.

“The bond—fix it.” Lambert growled, grinding up into him as he worried his split lip nervously.

The vampire opened his lips as if to speak and Lambert cut him off. “I swear to fucking god if you say ‘you know not what you ask’ one more damn time—“

Dettlaff trilled deeply, then cut him off with a low growl and demanding kiss. Fangs grazed his tongue drawing blood. The vampire sucked on the small wound, then on his split lip and Lambert keened and arched up into him. Trembling, Dettlaff let go of his hair and pulled back, tenderly pressing their foreheads together. The clawed hand that had been holding him came around and gently traced the outline of his jaw and Lambert wilted at the sudden contrast from pain to gentle affection.

“You know not…what you do to me…” Dettlaff breathed into him this time, nuzzling and stroking his cheek with a claw.

Lambert’s breath hitched at the tenderness of his words, but then he felt the vampire’s girth press into him through their thin trousers, and could feel the wet stickiness of their essence being shared between them. He reached down then and palmed at the vampire and squeezed, before he began to tug at Dettlaff’s trouser strings.

“Pretty sure I do, Detty…” he said teasingly as he licked up into Dettlaff then, who quickly pulled away. Lambert watched, his lips parting as the vampire slowly moved down his body, and hissed as sharp fangs nipped hard enough to bruise here and there. Dettlaff hadn’t even made it halfway before clawed hands began tearing at the strings to his trousers, loosening them to pull them down. He lifted his hips to assist, and his trousers were flung to the side, leaving him in just his braies. Those were gone just as quickly, and suddenly the painful tension that had been building sprung free from its prison.

Dettlaff tossed the offending clothing aside and stared down at him as he started pulling at the ties to his own. The intensity of the vampire’s focus made him shiver, despite the warmth of their little alcove, and Lambert worried his bloody lip as he watched.

It was but a moment before the second piece of offending clothing was discarded and Dettlaff lent over him once more.

The coil of anticipation constricted almost painfully in his chest as the vampire crawled back up his body and situated himself between his legs. When their cocks brushed, his body jumped at the contact and he whined as Dettlaff nuzzled into his neck. The vampire wrapped an arm underneath him, drawing him close as he licked at the sensitive skin on his neck. Shivering, his hands found Dettlaff’s hair, winding his fingers through it and pulling, bringing him back up to eye level.

Heavily lidded glowing eyes met blue eyes full of black. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Lambert asked, voice thick and expression vulnerable despite the assertiveness he tried to play off.

“I will be gentle,” Dettlaff replied, voice deep and assuring as he shoved something soft yet firm under him, tilting his hips to be at just the right angle.

Lambert scowled and abruptly let go of the vampire’s hair, feeling exasperated—embarrassed—and _needy._ “Fuck…I don’t need gentle…I need…I—damn it!” Ugh…he closed his eyes and let his head tip back as the vampire dipped his head back towards his neck, licking, nipping—

Lambert cried out, his hand coming back up to entangle in the vampires hair as fangs bit down, nearly drawing blood.

“F—fuck!”

Dettlaff chuckled against his neck and Lambert felt him reach past to grab the lone bottle of mineral oil he’d been using.

“I understand, dear witcher,” Dettlaff purred against his neck before sitting up and uncorking the vial. He watched as the vampire drizzled oil over his shaft and set the bottle aside, then slowly stroked it from base to tip. Lambert’s breath caught and his cock throbbed with need.

“Tell me what you want, Lambert. Be clear—“ Dettlaff spread him, his clawed hands leaving angry red marks as they trailed down the inside of his thighs making him hiss.

He felt so vulnerable then, but he was still proud. “You know what I want,” he breathed out stubbornly.

“I want to hear you. Say it,” Dettlaff leaned forward then, their lips brushing just slightly and Lambert shuddered at the heat and tension that was sheathed between his thighs. The warmth of their breath mingled, but Lambert’s came shallowly. He was panting, anticipating and not ready to admit out loud…

“Say it, Lambert.” A warm tongue flicked out and teased at the entrance to his ear while a clawed hand finally grasped at him and gave him a quick, firm stroke. Heat seared through him and he bucked up into the touch.

“I—f—uck.” Lambert’s elbows finally gave out then as a thumb smoothed over the sensitive head of his cock and he whined, giving in. “I wa—I want to feel you—inside, filling me.” He moaned and pressed towards Dettlaff as he felt the vampires cock tease his entrance. He closed his eyes then and scowled as his face flushed with need.

“Look at me, Lambert. I want you to watch me as I enter you.” The vampire purred at him, making him tremble.

He bit his lip and growled, keeping his eyes closed as he kept stubbornly refusing to give Dettlaff what he wanted.

The hand came back up to his hair again and pulled at it painfully, making him gasp.

“Look at me,” the vampire ordered this time, and Lambert’s eyes fluttered open at the pain—the pleasure, and finally let go as he totally gave in.

Pressure built up down below as he watched Dettlaff. The vampire slowly, achingly pressed forward into him and Lambert bit his lip till it bled again and fought back a whine. When pressure gave way, he slowly felt himself filled to the brim and heat flooded through his whole body until it became white hot. Dettlaff was moving too fucking slowly though, and ever the impatient one, he grabbed the vampire’s hips and pulled him close. He cried out as their hips melded together and Dettlaff was fully sheathed inside him.

The white hot pressure was almost too much and at the same time, not enough. He needed friction. _Now. _

“Move,” Lambert husked an order back as he bucked up into Dettlaff and licked the blood off his lip.

Dettlaff groaned and slowly pulled out, then thrust back into him, hard and deep—just how Lambert wanted it. He cried out but his eyes never left Dettlaff’s. The vampire closed his eyes then, lost—overwhelmed? Lambert pushed himself up onto his elbows once again and drew him down, claiming his lips and crying out just as the angle changed and Dettlaff hit that special spot inside him.

“Fuck…yes—just like—“ He lost himself as fangs nicked his tongue and Dettlaff sucked as the coppery tang of his own blood filled him. Arms pulled him close and clawed hands roved around and marked up his body, drawing blood in places and setting him afire. Dettlaff set a harsh pace, and somehow Lambert managed to keep up as the tension began to build between them.

At one point in his lustful haze he remembered his hair being yanked back _hard_, exposing his throat which he arched, submitting. Teeth grazed the soft skin there, along his pulse point and he moaned yet again as the special spot inside him was pierced.

“Do it,” he whined, voice needy and breathless. His hands pushed Dettlaff’s head down, encouraging him. Then he felt fangs cut through his skin and his world went white as venom flooded his system.

Lambert floated, caught somewhere between blazing white pain and overwhelming ecstasy as the vampire drew from him. Each pull sent pleasure through him, edging him closer as his system was over sensitized by the venom. With each draw and each pulse of his heart, the pleasure increased until finally the tension that had been building exploded outward and his entire body began to sear and tremble. It seemed to last forever and eventually, when he came to and returned to himself, he was lapping at a bloody wound he’d apparently made on Dettlaff’s neck. The coppery tang of blood somehow sung to him and he could feel the vampire twitching inside him, yet he could also feel—

_Contentment_ and _love_ suddenly filled him and he trembled in Dettlaff’s grip. The feelings, the emotion overwhelmed him…From Dettlaff?? The vampire held him gently as they came down and Lambert shook and nuzzled into Dettlaff’s chest as he tried to process it all.

_Safe_ and _comfort_ filled him as Dettlaff hummed and Lambert relaxed into the vampire, now shuddering once every so often. He felt content, but then whined as he felt Dettlaff shift. The vampire was still inside him, filling him though not like he had been. Lambert hissed as he felt Dettlaff slip free, leaving him empty and with an odd ache inside that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“How are you feeling,” Dettlaff rumbled as he shifted to his side and pulled Lambert against him. He let himself be held as he considered the vampires words. His body was littered with cuts that stung, and marks that ached and throbbed decorated his body. Yet he felt amazing…alive. Wanted. He hummed and closed his eyes as his weariness finally threatened to overtake him.

“Like I’ve been nailed to the wall and sacrificed to the blood moon,” he mumbled with a small grin. He’d asked for it, so he wasn’t really complaining…

That earned him a chuckle as arms tightened around him, making him feel warm and protected.

“And I went easy on you, witcher,” the vampire purred and nuzzled into his hair.

Uh huh. Didn’t really feel like it with all the bruises he was sure to have in the morning, but…“Probably a good thing as getting to Ban Ard after being split in two would be a bitch.”

That earned him another rolling laugh that reverberated through both of their bodies. Lambert let himself be swept away by the _happiness_ he felt from Dettlaff and he let out a genuine smile. The bond was making him feel super giddy and sentimental—not something he normally felt after a good romp.

As he lay there, his mind buzzing and body burning, he began to sense something rather peculiar. He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes as he tried to place it. Whatever it was emanated…sadness? Focusing on the strange sensation, he managed to pin point it as another presence in the distance.

“Wh—what’s that…light?” he couldn’t describe it, but the more he focused on it, the further away it seemed to get before finally winking out of existence.

Dettlaff shuddered beside him, and Lambert felt a pang of _hurt_ and _guilt_ ripple through their bond.

“That…that was Regis, dear Lambert. You are pack now, and as such, you two will be able to sense each other, even communicate to an extent.” Dettlaff sounded slightly morose and distracted.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and looked up at Dettlaff for the first time since—well—after…to see the vampire looking down at him. His eyes had returned to normal, and his lips had healed, but his expression was troubled.

“Are you okay? Is he okay…with this?” Even if Regis wasn’t…it was a done deal now. The older vampire would just have to learn to accept it.

“I…think he is. He is…yearning. Lonely.”

Ah…he want’s what they have then—or have begun to build anyway…

On impulse he brought their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending Dettlaff _peace_ and _contentedness_ to envelope him. Dettlaff sent him back the same, but with _love_.

Overwhelmed, Lambert kissed him then, tenderly this time, as he sought an outlet for all the emotions roiling through him. Dettlaff returned the kiss, though with more force than probably necessary, making Lambert moan. After a moment he forced himself to part as he felt the stirrings begin again, and he felt that their relationship—whatever it may be—had been propelled forward quite enough for one night.

Opening his eyes, he glanced over Dettlaff’s shoulder, out into the falling snow that fell in thick, swirling waves. The old witcher lay motionless beside them, his breath still even and deep.

“I can’t believe he didn’t wake up through all that,” Lambert grinned, stifling an almost sheepish laugh. Not that it would’ve bothered him if he had…Witcher’s were generally pretty used to each other fooling around nearby in some way or another.

“His heart rate has remained steady throughout, unlike ours,” Dettlaff informed nonchalantly.

“Obvious statement is obvious, Detty.” He rolled his eyes as he turned around slightly, then aimed his palm at the wall a couple meters away and made the sign for igni. Lambert held the stream for twenty seconds or so before cutting it out, and some rocks on the wall glowed. Heat radiated over them, protecting them against the bitter wind that occasionally whistled through their alcove.

“Wake me up when it gets too cold, Detty.” He mumbled tiredly as he lay down more fully and nuzzled into the vampires chest, closing his eyes. Heat warmed his back from the wall, and Dettlaff’s skin seared him from the front. Yet something else he couldn’t quite peg yet warmed him from the inside. Lambert drifted off, wondering what it was as his mind eased. The last thing he remembered was the vampire pulling the linen blanket over them and curling around Lambert’s body, their legs entwining as they seemingly became one.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Regis curled in on himself as the blizzard blew around him, the snow quickly coating him, piling up. Tears fell from his eyes, freezing and adding to it, mocking him as they helped to bury his body faster under the snows icy weight. He’d been so focused on getting back to Geralt that the sudden wave of passion from Dettlaff’s end of the bond knocked him out of his mist form and sent him reeling to the ground where he continued to lay. The pleasure Dettlaff felt overwhelmed him, cascaded over him and carried him along until he finally gathered enough of his wits to snap the bond between them closed.

He panted then, hugging himself, trying to get control of his body and regain that which he prided himself in for so many years. But the lapse startled him and he _ached._ He wanted to be touched, he wanted to be _loved_ but only by the one person who he could never have! At the thought of Geralt he let out a wail and sobbed wretchedly as he withdrew further into himself. He’d been following the witcher for over two decades. Over twenty years! The moment he’d set eyes on the man in Rinde, where the sorceress Yennefer had blown up an inn trying to tame a Djinn—

Ever since that moment he’d been utterly fascinated by the witcher—by what he was and most of all by his notoriety. And even then, looking back on that moment from where he was now—he _knew._ His near obsession with the witcher had driven him to break a solemn vow he’d sworn to himself—not to partake. Yet he did, if only so he could have the strength to keep up. If he had a head about him then, he should have stopped and taken it for a sign! But he was so engrossed in the man, in following him. Oh every so often he’d lose track of him, but Geralt’s reputation be damned, he’d end up finding him again!

Eventually, he lost track of the witcher altogether and he fell off the wagon again, twisting and turning down a spiral of binging, purging and self-hatred—his coping mechanism gone. At one point, he decided to capture the territory near his home in Fen Carn, and claim it as his own—Dillingen. Yet after he had, wars began to close in, drawing nearer, causing the inhabitants of the neighboring lands to encroach. He would binge then, guarding his territory, and purge, despairing. By then the intensity of the war had increased even further, and with the suspicious deaths he left behind him, the rumors and superstitions began.

As a cover, he set up a medical tent just outside Fen Carn, aiding those who got too close to his home and were in need. Then he heard tales of a witcher, seeking the assistance of the local barber surgeon to aid the refugees in his care.

Regis found him then and tracked the witcher’s slow progress towards his home. One night, he sought him out in his tent, asleep. When he looked down at the man, he hesitated—struck by how handsome he was, how _beautiful._ The scent of the sorcerous had long dispersed by then, giving him hope as he realized he’d been longing for the witcher—had been for years. He felt the _stirrings_ of something more within him then—and at that moment _he knew. _The moment the witcher approached his hovel in Fen Carn, _he _knew—his feelings solidified and he swore to himself he’d follow this man, helping him in any way!

Melitele did he know—and he did…He followed so faithfully for the longest time! Still did!

Regis shuddered as sobs wracked throughout his body and he heaved, unable to breathe—no longer wanting to—wishing he could have what Dettlaff had, with his witcher Lambert—Geralt—_yearning…_

Pleasure wracked through his body then as the bond forced itself open and his body convulsed. Regis’s vision went white; blinded by the passion pouring through the bond and the sudden power behind it which overwhelmed his willpower to keep it closed. In an instant, the agonizing pleasure he felt flooding through to him peaked and he came, crying out as a new presence suddenly flared to life within their pack bond.

Shuddering in the snow, he warred with himself to get control—fight it—close the bond. He had to close it—close...couldn’t—didn’t want to feel…_it wasn’t fair…_

Dettlaff’s presence winked at him then, sending _comfort _and _love._

Sob’s wracked his body as he sent _envy_ and _longing _back before he snapped the bond closed and lost himself to his sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they did the thing! I tried to make it slow burn but when you're dealing with witcher boys...its kinda hard...they only wait so long and the writing does its own thing lol I'm not very practiced at writing this kind of thing so I hope you liked, please comment!
> 
> Poor Regis though :( *pets*

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. I love commentary!


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